


Taken by Surprise

by BabblingSquirrel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabblingSquirrel/pseuds/BabblingSquirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Innocent and harmless as he appears, Harry Potter is anything but - and after years of sitting tight, on the move. Can the Dark Lord cope with the bombshell? Will the wizarding world ever be the same if he can? Independent!Harry, Powerful!Harry, eventual SLASH<br/>I am the BabblingSquirrel from fanfiction.net, the author of this story, and am posting it here for backup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.

A tuft of messy black hair and one large brilliant green eye peeked out from behind a bookshelf. The eye followed a hunched figure in a pink felt hat out of the door and when the room was safely empty except for a stern looking woman behind the counter, a teenage boy walked out of the shadows of the aisle with an armful of books. Hearing his footsteps, the young librarian looked up from her paperwork, her piercing grey eyes softening as she caught sight of the pile of books and the pair of thin legs beneath it. She removed the oval glasses from the tip of her nose, put them down on the counter and approached the boy with a warm smile.

"You know you don't have to be shy of calling for me, when you need help Harry," she said taking the books from the boy's arms.

"I didn't want to disturb you, Miss Bracket," murmured Harry keeping his eyes on the floor.

"It's my job, sweetie. Don't worry about it next time," chuckled the librarian with a wink that no one would expect from her considering her overall strict look.

"Have you finished all the books you borrowed last time already?"

"Yes," said Harry hurriedly fishing in his bag and stacking the books up on the counter. "By the way, thank you for the tip Miss Bracket, I enjoyed reading Great Expectations very much. I don't know why Oliver Twist is considered Dickens' best novel. I find Great Expectations much more thoughtful."

"Oh sweetie, if I didn't know you read so much, I would have my jaw on the floor right now, asking where you get such academic expressions," Miss Bracket sniggered. Then her smile melted into a pensive frown. "I sometimes wonder what's to become of you…"

After watching her think for a while, Harry politely cleared his throat and held out his library ticket. She quickly turned her eyes to him, hesitated a little before taking the ticket and moving her attention to the books on the counter. Harry waited for her to finish registering the book loans showing no signs of restlessness. If she looked up, she would probably find his observant eyes quite unnerving.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Making sure the pink felt hat was nowhere in sight Harry Potter exited the library, started walking briskly down the busy street and turned the corner into a less crowded alleyway as soon as possible. There he slowed down a bit and chuckled. Although he didn't approve of being called sweetie, he'd always enjoyed interactions with Miss Bracket. She was one of few people that were able to see something more in him than just a scrawny orphan, a burden, a waste of time and money. Not that Harry was complaining about the view of the others. It was easier to pass unnoticed when everyone thought he was nothing special. But it was also fun to have someone peeking behind the mask of prejudices and seeing at least part of his true personality. He wouldn't let it go too far, of course, some of his secrets had to stay safe. However Miss Bracket was quite harmless and she liked Harry too much to get suspicious and start snooping around.

Turning another corner Harry crossed the alley, walked up the stairs and knocked hard on a flaking wooden door of a two-storey house. The building must have been elegant in its time, the marine-blue-coloured door and window frames, the delicately wrought balcony railing, the pale azure façade, now yellowed and darkened by dust and mould on some places. It looked a bit out of place among all the Victorian red-brick houses around.

"Lazy old fool," muttered Harry opening the door with a wave of his hand. He walked through the dark dusty corridor slightly touching one of its bare cold walls with the fingers of his right hand. As he approached the dim light at the end, he could make out a figure swamped in a rocking chair. The room was not as spacious as one would assume from the length of the hallway. It gave an impression of a gloomy and kind of cosy mess. A shrivelled old man wrapped up in a faded red blanket was slumbering in the wicker rocking chair in one corner under an antique oil lamp that was currently the only source of light in the room. In front of the rocker there was a simple wooden coffee table covered by a thick layer of something that looked like a mixture of smear, raspberry jam, spilt coffee and cigarette ash. In the opposite corner there was a large sofa-bed with flowered upholstery and a turquoise duvet sprawled over one of the armrests and half of the fluffy maroon rug beside it. There were newspapers, magazines and bed sheets all over the parquet floor. In the middle of it all there was a footstool with two toppled dirty cups and a glass ashtray overflowing with butts.

Harry came up to the rocker, stared down at the snoring bundle of wrinkles for a moment, sighed and gave the man a gentle shake. "Wake up old man, it's time to get you and this den cleaned up." When there was no reaction, he thoroughly poked the man's chest. "Come on, do me a favour, open your eyes and pretend to understand at least half of the sounds coming out of my mouth." At that the puckered eyelids with almost non-existent white lashes fluttered open and revealed a pair of glazed watery blue eyes. Then a low gurgle came out of the man's throat as he tried to clear it.

"Mr Perfect's here," he exclaimed enthusiastically in his high raspy voice jumping up from the rocking chair with surprising energy, quickly untangling his limbs from the blanket. "All cleaned up in one second, Mr Perfect, just wait for it," he took the ashtray from the footstool and started scattering the butts across the room with a zealous grin on his face as if he was a bridesmaid showering a newly married couple with flowers. Dancing to music only he could hear he waltzed around the room a few times only stopping confusedly when there were no more butts to throw.

"You know I love it when you do that, old man," snickered Harry after having observed the crazy antics with an amused smirk. "Now let's transform you into the respectable Mr Sanderson once again," the boy winked as he walked up to him taking the ashtray from his hands and putting it back on the footstool. Harry frowned suspiciously as he took the man by the too thin arm and led him to a shabby little bathroom near an oak spiral staircase. "Did you make yourself at least one decent meal this past week or were you as usual surviving on the snacks I had brought you?"

"Don't you dare insult your snacks Mr Perfect, they are decent enough, they are full of those... nutritious things... vitamins. I read it in a magazine that snacks are the most decent stuff one can get to eat," babbled Mr Sanderson tugging at the hem of his filthy grey jumper distractedly.

"That's what I thought," sighed Harry pushing the man through the bathroom door. "Now to the bathtub with you and strip," the boy helped Mr Sanderson into the tub and started pulling the repulsive jumper over his head.

"You always strip the jumper off first, why not the trousers or the socks, that would be much more... convenient, yes, the socks would be much more convenient," the man's ranting was muffled by the layer of wool.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Harry let the dirty clothes fall to the floor and collapsed on the flowered sofa-bed. Listening to the splashing sounds coming from the bathroom he stuck his hand between the cushioning and took out the pack of cigarettes he knew the old man was hiding there. _As if no one could tell from the state of the room that the occupant is a smoker._ Glancing at the floor covered with butts he had to smirk again. It was some sort of a welcoming ritual of the old man's to make an even bigger jumble in the room, when Harry announced it was time to clean up. It was entertaining to watch and he had no problem with the additional mess.

Harry lit up a cigarette with a snap of his fingers and stood up from the sofa. _Let's make this place a little inhabitable._ He pulled on the cigarette and let it dangle from his lower lip, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration. Holding out his hands palms up he made a rising gesture and a light breeze swept through the room, lifted all the dust and dirt, tossed it through the long corridor out on the street and shut the door from outside. Then with another stronger blow all the things were put in their right places, the clothes, the sheets and the duvet folded themselves neatly on the sofa-bed, the cleaned cups flew obediently on their shelf in the kitchen. Harry drew contentedly on his cigarette as he glanced over the now spotless room.

He sat back on the sofa-bed the emptied glass ashtray in one hand, the cigarette between two fingers of the other and let himself get lost in thoughts. Today was his birthday and his "grand-uncle" Mr Sanderson was taking him to the cinema. Right. That's what they had told the old hag Hutcher. But what did he really want to do? Surely he would leave the old man at home, that's what he liked the best anyway. So he had the whole night just for himself, he could do anything. For once he was free. _I can drop by Mike's bar, I haven't seen him for ages. He would even let me sleep at his place._ Harry had come to like the jovial barman, he was easy to talk to, easy to make fun of and hard to get truly angry. _Sounds like a plan..._ He drew on the cigarette one last time before stubbing it out on the bottom of the ashtray. As he was placing it on the footstool, there came a loud slosh. _For God's sake what is he doing in there?_ Harry stood up and headed for the bathroom.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Lucius Malfoy was a patient man. A very patient man if he had a say in it. But to be kept waiting for almost an hour in this filthy muggle den was crossing the line. He sat in a dark corner of the almost empty bar nursing his second glass of what the bartender had called the best whisky they had. It couldn't stand comparison with Firewhisky and so by far neither with the drinks he preferred. This was just one hell of an evening.

Yet as he thought about it, he could at least relax for a while. Since his Lord's return at the beginning of June he worked literally day and night. It was necessary to renew old liaisons and create new ones while keeping the whole movement a secret. That was a very precarious job and they couldn't afford any missteps. It was much easier for the Dark Lord to drop all the work on the head of the most experienced and successful politician in his service than respect Lucius' need for freedom and let the tasks be ruined by some incompetent bootlickers. He also had to maintain his influential post at the ministry because it was convenient to have someone pulling the strings from behind the scenes. And that his Lord had moved the headquarters to Malfoy manor? It was the safest privet property in England, of course. Yes, he understood the Dark Lord's reasoning very well and since he was in the man's good graces he had no ground for complaints. However, it didn't stop him from feeling trapped. He finished the drink and waved for the waiter to get him another two. There was no need for keeping up appearances in the muggle world. This would be one hell of an evening.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

When Harry appeared in a narrow alleyway near Mike's bar it was already getting dark. He knew that if he wanted to talk to Mike, he should have come earlier in the evening. At this hour Mike would be probably too busy. _But it's Monday, nobody goes to a bar on Monday, right?_

As he approached the main street, he caught sight of commotion to his right from the corner of his eye. Spotting a pink felt hat he quickly ducked into the nearest passage. _That was close! How does she do that? Is she following me or something? Seriously, Mrs Hutcher, you give me the creeps..._ Cautiously he watched her pass the alley. When he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore, he left his hiding place and headed off for the bar on the main street.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

He entered through the glass door and had to stop for a moment to let his eyes get used to the dim lighting inside. It wasn't the most decent spot one could find but it was quite clean and the prices were reasonable. There were two connected rooms both the same size, furnished the same way with small rectangular tables and wooden benches that created separate compartments alongside the dark brown walls. The space taken in the first room by a bar made of solid alder matching the furniture, was filled up with a tiny dance floor in the second. There was only one chandelier in each of the rooms so that the shadow in the corners was almost impenetrable.

Harry walked up to the bar carefully taking in his surroundings. There was only one currently cooing couple in the second room and then he came to feel the sharp stare directed at his back from the corner right behind him.

"Harry," exclaimed the barman joyfully offering the boy a hand across the bar. "How've you been? Haven't seen you since your old man last strayed here." said the man in a playfully scolding tone.

"Hey Mike, didn't see you there," teased Harry, turning his attention from the dark corner he'd been examining to the lanky young man before him and shaking his hand. "I reckoned I'd have to take cover in that cupboard of yours but this place is perfectly dead. Isn't your business suffering?" challenged Harry cheekily, hopping on a barstool.

Mike gave him a significant look. "Well, Monday evening, what would you expect? Not that we are exactly crowded any other day. However, if you want to stay here tonight, you'll have to take cover anyway. I'd suggest one of the corners. I don't suppose whoever is coming to relieve me will be happy to serve a twelve-year-old," replied Mike bitingly yet with an apologetic glint in the warm brown eyes.

"You don't do all night shifts anymore? Oh, don't tell me you've finally found yourself a girl! Is she pretty?" suggested Harry goadingly.

"No, I-" Mike started to respond his ears reddening.

"So she's not pretty, that's a shame," pouted Harry for effect.

"No, prat," Mike smacked the boy over the head with a tea towel though a low chuckle gave out his amusement. "I've merely found myself an assistant as you so wisely suggested the last time we met," explained Mike returning to his tea towel and wet glasses.

"Glad to be of any help," replied Harry with a mocking bow. "And by the way, I'm no twelve-year-old anymore."

"When?" asked Mike suspiciously.

"Today," the boy announced proudly.

"Well, that doesn't count yet," deadpanned Mike, the right corner of his mouth twitching.

"Git," muttered Harry with an amused smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: A few slightly "slashy" hints, but nothing physical (yet)

Sipping at the last few drops of the muggle liquor Lucius Malfoy came to the conclusion that to like the alcohol one had to consume enough of it. After the fifth glass he found himself quite enjoying the taste. He was going to order another whisky to discover if it could get any better, when a young man entered the bar. Lucius had to fight a shiver threatening to overwhelm him as he felt the change in the air. It was similar to being in close proximity to his Lord yet not the same. In the presence of the Dark Lord one tended to be on guard, the power thick, almost liquid, pulsing and ready to lash out. This man's magic, while still heavily intoxicating, seemed to be better controlled and lulled those in its range into a false sense of security. Studying him from the safety of his darkened table Lucius didn't expect the stranger to notice him. However, the most enchanting bright green eyes turned in his direction the next second and for a moment he was sure that they pierced through the shadows, through all his masks and protections and looked right into his soul. His breath hitched in his throat.

He should have been irritated with the man that was able to make him lose his poise so easily. Instead he was fascinated and drawn to him. Composing himself he examined him further and realized that the man had yet to become one. He would guess him to be no more than fifteen maybe sixteen years old. He was very good-looking. No, he was beautiful, there was no other word for it, but nowhere near feminine. The boy seemed a bit short for his supposed age, though not unnaturally so. He was slender yet not fragile nor delicate. His eyes were by far the most captivating thing about him, they were a rare shade of brilliant verdant green framed by long black eyelashes, though his face was also a work of art. The defined jawline, the distinct cheekbones, the slightly pouty rosy lips... And then there was the rather cute boyish mess of raven black hair. Yes, the boy was definitely one of the most charming creatures he had ever come across.

Hoping to get some information about the intriguing newcomer Lucius would have eagerly followed the conversation between the boy and the barman. But as soon as the bartender took breath for his hearty greeting, he distinctly felt an unfamiliar sort of privacy ward come up around the pair of them. Fascinating indeed.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Harry Potter was not stupid, or so he liked to believe. He had noted there was something different the moment he had walked in the bar. There was a magical source other than his own in the room. There, in the dark corner conveniently right behind his back as he talked to Mike, was someone watching his every move. It wasn't the first time he sensed other magical cores and there was something not exactly wrong but out of order with this person's aura, as if he carried a part of someone else's, much stronger magic aside from his own. That was definitely new for Harry and he had to admit that he was curious. Yet he knew he didn't have to do anything but wait, the stranger would approach him on his own accord. _This could be rather fun._ He smirked and carried on with the conversation with Mike.

It was around ten when the couple in the next room wanted the bill and Mike left Harry alone by the bar. The stranger was quick, one had to give him that. The instant Mike left, the man was already sitting down on the barstool next to him. Not hastily as Harry expected but with confident serene grace. It was then that he was sure he was dealing with someone distinguished. Harry observed the man dispassionately from the corner of his eye taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He could only see him in profile but the aristocratic features, the fair flawless complexion and the long shiny blond hair were somewhat prominent even from that angle. It was the kind of appearance one couldn't describe without an understatement. Although he didn't show it, Harry was impressed. He just hoped the man wasn't royalty. He hid a grin. This would be an interesting night, he was certain.

"Got a light?" asked Harry pulling out a cigarette.

The man turned to him concealing the confusion in the pale grey nearly silver eyes almost immediately. He looked around, then drew a long wooden stick out of his sleeve and flicked it in front of Harry. It was his turn to be confused but he swiftly adapted to the situation and shoved the end of the cigarette into the flames dancing around the tip of the stick.

"Thanks," he muttered blowing out the smoke feeling the other man's watchful eyes on him all the time. "Do you stare like that on everyone, or am I the lucky exception?" he asked innocently, glancing sideways to keep track of the man's expression, deciding to think about strange wooden sticks later.

"I'd guess you are the lucky exception," the man replied apparently not unsettled by the insinuation one bit.

"To what do I owe the honour?" inquired Harry tapping the ash off into a black ceramic ashtray.

"To me of course, since I'm the one staring," answered the man calmly not missing a beat.

Harry turned to face him completely with a crooked smile, intrigued. A challenge? Really?

"But I don't have anything to repay you," Harry remarked ostensibly pensive, though the suggestion was clear in his voice. Now he managed to take him by surprise. He let himself watch the fair eyebrows rise and different emotions successively fill the man's face. Confusion, realization, incredulity, desire.

"Want a smoke?" he offered opening the pack of cigarettes and pushing it towards the man, highly amused when he saw relief mixing with disappointment in his eyes.

"No, thank you. I don't believe that staring is such a meritorious activity deserving a reward," he observed, composing himself quickly. "In some cases it might be more beneficial to the one staring than to the person stared at," he continued drily. "May I buy you a drink?" finished the man graciously, now so calm and collected that Harry almost wondered if he had imagined the situation just a moment ago.

"If you say so," he replied teasingly. "Alright, I'll join you at your table in a minute." It was an obvious dismissal though not impolite. The man nodded in acceptance, his eyes never leaving Harry's face, then went to sit back in the corner.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

If he had been fascinated before, he now feared to give his impression of the boy a name. No one dared to play with a Malfoy! Yet this lad had managed it with ease and style and even so that Lucius had enjoyed it. And his magic! It had been alluring from across the room. Right next to him, it was almost impossible to restrain one's desire to be closer to the boy, to touch him. Malfoys didn't swear. _But bloody hell who is he?_

He replayed the whole encounter in his head. The boy hadn't given out anything about himself aside from being quick-witted, manipulative, confident, saucy and kind of infuriating. He was a smoker. At sixteen or whatever his age, he was definitely in his teens, so maybe rebellious? And then there had been the short hesitation when he had pulled out his wand. The lad hadn't seemed cautious, that would have been understandable, but for a second he'd looked baffled as if he'd never seen anyone do magic before. Strange.

His attention was still on the boy when the barman returned from the next room with a satisfied smile on his face.

"Paolo called. He'll be here in a few minutes. When I'm done instructing him we can go to my place, order a pizza, watch movies or whatever you'd like to do to celebrate," the bartender suggested enthusiastically.

"Paolo? You've hired an Italian? Cool," remarked the lad.

"No idea, I've never met him. I gave a job advert to an agency and they told me someone would come by or let me know this evening. So what about later, are you coming?" inquired the man.

"Actually, I think I'll stay here for a bit. Sorry, Mike. We can celebrate some other time, it won't take me too long to show up. Promise," said the boy guiltily in an apologetic voice.

"Why do you want to stay?" Mike questioned, plainly disappointed.

"I've met someone," responded the lad vaguely.

"Whom?" the man implied.

"That man," answered the lad pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. He sounded indifferent but when one listened carefully, there was a trace of interest leaking through.

"Do you know him?" Mike asked suspiciously.

"I've met him," the boy equivocated.

"Alright. But if you want to sleep at my place, be there before midnight, ok?" offered the bartender resignedly as if knowing it was fruitless to pry when the boy wasn't willing to tell and gave the lad the I-hope-you-know-what-you're-doing look.

"Yes, mum," the boy answered in a playful tone and planting a kiss on the bewildered man's cheek, he headed off to Lucius' corner with an amused grin on his face.

"What do we drink?" he asked on the way to the table.

"Whisky?" Lucius suggested.

"Mike, fetch us two scotches with rocks before you go, will you?" called the boy over his shoulder not bothering to turn around. Lucius saw the barman shaking his head incredulously but pouring the whisky. To be honest he wanted to shake his head incredulously too. Were they seriously going to have rocks in their drinks?

"So, what did you come up with, Sherlock?" inquired the lad sitting down on the bench opposite him studying him closely after letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light.

"Excuse me?" Lucius lifted an eyebrow uncomprehendingly.

"You've been observing me as if you were analysing and assessing my every move for the better part of the evening. I suppose you've had to come up with something by now," explained the boy wearily, his eyes alert. "If you aren't completely daft that is," he challenged as an afterthought.

"I'm not quick to judge, one often comes to wrong conclusions that way," informed Lucius avoiding the answer. "Who's Sherlock?" he asked curiously.

"This brilliant detective. Wait, you've never heard of Sherlock Holmes? Now, I understand," the boy remarked with something akin to mock realization. "Thanks Mike," he gave the worried-looking man a reassuring smile as the bartender placed two glasses filled with honey-coloured liquid and ice cubes on the table before them. "Really it's no wonder, when you are missing such a vast inspiration in your life," continued the lad sympathetically. "Thus in that case considering you had to invent your investigative method all by yourself I have to congratulate you on your seminal deduction," he finished theatrically.

It took Lucius a second to make sense of the implied insult and he believed there were still a few aspects of it he didn't understand. The boy acted like an excellent chess player prepared for every move his opponent could possibly make. Never mind he had employed the skill only for his own entertainment so far. He couldn't but speculate if he'd ever see the boy serious. Till now he'd just joked around. Yes, it was inventive and fairly stimulating. Yet he simply knew there had to be more to him. The question was how to get him to show it.

When Lucius didn't say anything for a while, the boy raised his glass with a soft but passionate "to walkie-talkie" and took a sip of his whisky.

"To walkie-talkie," Lucius also toasted for the sake of politeness. "Now, if you wouldn't mind leaving this topic I admit I have no idea about, why don't you introduce yourself?" he said with a small smile indicating that he wasn't offended.

To Lucius' surprise the boy looked satisfied. At first for a fraction of a second it'd seemed he'd burst out laughing, though the expression had disappeared so quickly that he wasn't sure it had been there at all. Then he looked satisfied and intrigued. He had expected defiance, maybe even the childish why-me-first reaction to his request. That most likely crossed out rebellious.

"Oh, I'm Harry," he offered cheerfully holding out a hand across the table. No last name? A bit suspicious but nowadays one had to be careful.

"Lucius," he said also extending his hand. "Pleasure to m-" it was then that many things happened at the same time. At first the boy's magic started buzzing around him in anticipation, after that Lucius noticed a note lying on the table in front of Harry saying "Don't worry", in the next second his hand was finally touching Harry's over the table and then there came the well known tug of Apparation.

Apparation with Harry was by far the most enjoyable he'd ever experienced. The unpleasant feeling of being pulled through a very tight tube lasted only for an instant at the beginning and at the end of the process. In the intervening time he felt as if being levitated. There was nothing drawing him in any direction, no weight, just his head, trunk and limbs floating in the darkness.

When the second tight tube spat him out, Lucius found himself gasping for breath kneeling on a polished floor of nice light colours of white oak. There was only one big window in the room, half covered with heavy wine-coloured curtains. In front of the window about three feet into the room there was a black writing desk with two books, a few sheets of paper and a pen all perfectly arranged in the right corner. To the left of the table there was a library consisted of countless rows of black bookshelves touching the white ceiling each marked with a red plate, though only the first five or six of the shelves were filled with books, the rest was empty. On the side opposite the window the room didn't seem to end, just more and more rows of shelves and the flawless white oak floor sinking into the shadows. The wall to the right of the table was covered by a tasteful wallpaper with a complicated pattern in black and white. The only furniture in the room aside from the shelves and the desk was a crimson red leather armchair placed to the right of the table maybe two yards from the wall. Evidently there was no door in the room at least not visible one.

Lucius rose to his feet looking for Harry who was already seated in the crimson armchair observing him with an unreadable expression.

"I've never expected to have any visitors," the boy said. "Please, take a seat," he invited conjuring the exact same red armchair opposite his own. Lucius' eyes widened, he had never seen anyone do such complex spells wondlessly. Well, whom was he kidding? He hadn't seen anyone Apparate without using his wand from the middle of a bar either.

When Lucius sat down there came a strong surge of magic, wrapped itself around him and disappeared. It wasn't unpleasant, he doubted anything not exactly painful done by Harry's magic would be disagreeable, though since he didn't know this spell's purpose, the magic didn't give him any sense of security this time.

"Harry, would you inform me what you've done to me, where we are and why you decided it was necessary to take me here against my will?" inquired Lucius trying to sound dispassionate. However that was a long shot from what he really felt, he was in an unfamiliar room without a door and his only companion was an unpredictable and immensely powerful teenager.

"The spell you sensed will ensure anything that happens here will not leave this room. That means if you try to disclose any information about what you'll hear or see here tonight to a third person, you won't be able to," Harry explained patiently, his voice lacking the usual playful undertone, his eyes unnervingly focused on Lucius' face. Now Lucius had his answer. Harry would only show his true character, when he was sure what he revealed couldn't be used against him.

"You can be certain that we are in London," Harry continued. "About your third question, to put it shortly, I decided to take you here because you toasted to walkie-talkie," a chuckle escaped the boy, though he composed himself immediately. "Also because you didn't know who Sherlock Holmes is, you were wondering whether you'd have to drink rocks or because you've never lit anyone's cigarette. I took you here because you made sure no one was watching before you conjured a flame with that wooden stick of yours. I thought it better to have this conversation in private when you were obviously afraid of anyone finding out the answers to the questions I'm going to ask. There are no spells keeping you from leaving if you find this situation uncomfortable. Although I'd prefer if you stayed and talked to me. Just a talk, that's all I ask. I suspected and dreamed about this for far too long. Would you tell me about your world?" when he finished his voice was calm, his face serene and his head curiously inclined to one side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: This chapter contains a mild and short yet still very slash (male/male) scene. There's also underage sex (well, if it can be called sex) since Harry's just turned thirteen. You've been warned.

He couldn't remember the last time he had found it so hard to restrain himself from laughing. The dumbstruck expression on Lucius' face was simply hilarious. Remembering his arrogant and domineering behaviour in the bar, he reckoned having absolutely no control over the current situation had to be driving the man crazy right now. Harry usually wasn't the gleeful type, but this was too tempting. Yet he had to keep his composure, it would be idiotic to ruin this exceptional opportunity. He was far too curious to let his own stupidity come in the way of his thirst for knowledge. He needed information from this man. Information about the Other World, whose existence he was now finally sure of.

Since the first time he had recognised a magical source in a crowd waiting at a bus stop when he'd been seven, he had been wondering about people like him that had probably lived among the ordinary ones. Did they all choose to keep their powers a secret? Did they not want to share or discuss their magical abilities, the things they learned about themselves, about their grasp on magic and its progress? Did all the magic stay hidden and wasted as it had come to people throughout the ages? These had been his questions then.

After he had sensed magic in a wrinkled old woman when he had gone shopping with Mr Sanderson as an eight year old, he had concluded they were cowards. He had known that if he had approached someone at that time, they would have laughed at him. To them he would have been just a child with wild fantasy. But he had promised himself that once he was old enough to be taken seriously, he'd corner one of those chickens and make them talk.

That opinion had held until the early evening of Halloween when he'd been eleven. It had been the first time the old man had wandered off to Mike's bar and while searching for him Harry had encountered a whole group of people with magical cores. There had been sixteen of them, they had all been wearing these weird dress-like clothes, they had been laughing madly and had seemed to be wonderfully drunk. It simply couldn't have been by accident that they'd been all magical, right? And for the first time in his life Harry had felt hope. Hope that there was something more to the world than his hellhole of an orphanage and stuck-up people looking down on him. There had to be something more.

And then for two years there had been nothing. No more groups of magical people, no more weird dress-like clothes. Till tonight he'd had absolutely no proof to substantiate his theory, his dream. And now a man probably holding the answers to all his questions was sitting in his Office right across from him looking baffled and confused to the brink of madness. Right. When had been the last time he had told himself he was a genius?

He was still curious about the fraction of someone else's magic attached to the other man's own, though he wouldn't pry into that now. Maybe later. For all he knew it could be quite personal. He had no information about the Other World's costumes and traditions. It might be some kind of magical contract, a vow or a bond, possibly marriage? However, he doubted that Lucius would have found himself a spouse so powerful. He just wasn't the type Harry would expect to be the weaker one in a relationship. He had to fight down a chuckle threatening to leave his throat at the image. Checking his emotionless mask he waited patiently for Lucius to get over his bewilderment. What had the man so shocked was beyond him though.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

His jaw had been hanging open just for a second and Harry definitely couldn't have noticed, Lucius was quite sure as he forced a dispassionate expression on his face. Still the mess in his head was fairly disturbing. What had the boy just said? It had sounded like... But no, that wasn't possible. He had seen the lad do incredible things. One so in control of his magic had had to be trained, had to be schooled by other wizards. It was unimaginable that it had all come to the teen naturally. And in the most improbable case that it had, how could the wizarding world not know about such talent? How could this prodigy escape Dumbledore's attention. The old coot was a nuisance but he had his ways to find children with even the tiniest bit of potential. Hell, he was able to sniff out even the last blasted mudblood in England and this kid had come unnoticed? No, not possible! His jaw had dropped again. He sighed and hoping to keep at least some of his dignity placed a suspicious frown on his face. He swallowed heavily, twice before finally being able to speak.

"What do you mean, my world?" Lucius asked not quite ready to admit to himself he'd already known the answer.

"Well, the community you live in or whatever you'd like to call it. There have to be others, right? Or are you an alien?" Harry inquired drily his eyes twinkling with amusement. It was really starting to get on Lucius' nerves to hear words whose meaning he had absolutely no clue about. "There's no way you've been living among ordinary people and haven't come across such things as cigarettes or detective stories," he finished keeping Lucius under a piercing stare making him feel like he was being analysed from the inside out.

Lucius gazed at him disbelievingly for quite a while. So that was for not possible.

"Would you like something to drink?" offered the boy taking pity on him.

"Yes, that would be much appreciated," said Lucius trying not to sound too grateful.

The lad waved his hand and at once an elegant black coffee table materialised between them. With another wave he summoned two glasses and a very old-looking bottle.

"I found it in the basement. It's some kind of brandy, rather good," the boy commented uncorking the bottle and pouring them both an inch of the maroon liquid.

Lucius took a sip and was surprised to recognise the taste. It was very similar to one of his favourite older brands. He wanted to check the label, but it was missing.

He finished his drink pretty quickly and even though Harry had drunk only few sips of his own so far, the boy generously poured him a second glass.

"So, we were talking about your world," prompted the lad offhandedly, yet his eyes were boring into Lucius' impatiently. Lucius took a deep breath, then a proper gulp of his brandy and braced himself. This was going to be long and tedious. He could as well get it over with.

"Where to start... There is a community of witches and wizards hidden from muggles - non magical people," he began. Why was he doing this again? "You could say we have a world of our own, though it's mostly part of the same civilization. We live in London but in sections not accessible to muggles. The same goes for other cities, towns and villages across England and also the continent. In Europe solely wizarding settlements are very rare. However in Asia, Africa, America and Australia magical villages, somewhere even towns are much more common. Although we have our residences quite close to the muggle ones, the two cultures are distinctly diverse..."

And so it went on and on. Lucius patiently explained everything Harry showed interest in and after Lucius' fourth and Harry's second glass of brandy, the boy appeared to be accustomed to the idea of the wizarding world enough to discuss rather complex topics and issues. The lad's curiosity and enthusiasm didn't seem to end and strangely Lucius found himself enjoying the conversation. Over his fifth glass he could feel he was getting quite tipsy though.

"What I still don't understand is why you all use wands when it's so easy to do magic without them. Do the spells somehow get more powerful when one uses a wand?" Harry's thoughtful voice pulled Lucius out of his hazy musings.

"To tell you the truth, I've never seen anyone practice wandless magic like you. Some of the more accomplished wizards can perform simple spells but never with such ease or in such a spontaneous way as you do it. However to conjure furniture or to Apparate, that's simply beyond the grasp we are able to have on wandless magic," Lucius explained earnestly pouring himself another glass.

Harry seemed to be pondering voicing an argument though in the end he changed the subject.

"You told me about the pureblood culture and the dubious political machinery. May I ask a favour?" he asked carefully.

"That depends..." replied Lucius vaguely his head spinning dangerously. He wasn't used to drinking so much but today he had needed it. Needed to switch off. If it was wise doing it in this cunning teen's presence that was another thing entirely.

"Would you help me out once I join the magical community? I mean socially. You have connections and strong political influence. I would like to... meet the right people, if you know what I mean," implied Harry observing the other man closely.

Lucius pulled the request through his suddenly very mushy brain once, twice before answering: "I suppose I could do that." His tongue felt heavy and it took some effort to form coherent words. It seemed the six drinks he'd had in the bar were catching up with him.

Harry gave him a strange look, then stood up and walked around the coffee table to the other man. Stopping in front of the armchair he extended his hand expectantly. Lucius watched it for a bit before his cloudy mind took control of his body and made him shake it vigorously. Abruptly a tingly wave swept through his head.

"What was that?" started Lucius sobering instantaneously.

"Oh, don't worry, it's nothing like the vows you've told me about," reassured Harry. "It'll just make you remember in the morning," he offered with a cheeky grin.

"Do I look that drunk?" asked Lucius rather needlessly.

"Well, to be honest..." the boy inclined his head to one side significantly.

"I guess I am quite a mess," sighed Lucius downing his drink. "Sit," he ordered patting the armrest. As he came out of the stupor laboriously he was overwhelmed once again by the boy's aura. It was everywhere, he had nowhere to escape. And he probably wouldn't even if he could since it felt so damn good.

"Tell me, Lucius," Harry ordered in an authoritative yet strangely sweet voice leaning against the indicated armrest. Lucius shivered, he couldn't help it. Hearing his name pronounced that way went straight to his groin. He felt hot nerves knot low in his stomach. He was so screwed.

"It will make you feel good," the boy now spoke in a mostly sympathetic but to Lucius' ears still thickly erotic hushed tone. As he said it he laid his hand gently on Lucius' thigh in an innocent comforting gesture. A whimper he hadn't quite managed to fight back escaped Lucius' lips. He felt his cock twitch and in the muggle jeans he was wearing it was pretty visible as he hardened.

"Lucius," Harry added in a suggestive whisper moving his hand upwards on Lucius' inner thigh. There was nothing innocent about it. Lucius moaned not caring about the precariousness of the situation anymore. He was painfully hard now and Harry's hand was so warm and infuriatingly close.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Once in a long while Harry was enjoying himself immensely. He could sober Lucius up anytime, he'd had quite the practice with Mike, but it was so much fun making the arrogant blond squirm. Besides he wanted the man to tell him whatever was bothering him. He could sense important information when it was circling under his nose on a silver platter.

He cleared the other man's mind only to certain extent so that Lucius could see how absurd it was to be turned on like a hormonal teenager by a perfectly calm and composed supposed hormonal teenager. It wouldn't help Lucius' current state one bit yet it would bring the slight pang of guilt and shame Harry was going for. And there it was, the bright silver eyes closing in humiliation and opening only to come to the mortifying feeling of arousal again. Sweet God of manipulation, how he loved this!

"Tell me," Harry repeated his voice now firm and unyielding, withdrawing his hand from the other man's lap.

"I'm a slave. I'm a bloody slave and can't even complain about it with an easy conscience. My Lord treats me with respect, says he enjoys my company, overlooks the petty mistakes I make and praises me for my accomplishments," the man mumbled feverishly driven by alcohol-boosted anxiety. He babbled on but Harry couldn't make out one single English word.

Really? Lucius humbled in a position of a servant? This master had to be worthwhile. Considering Lucius' influential position he had to have colossal power in the wizarding world.

"You know you kind of remind me of my Lord?" Lucius appeared ready to slap himself after saying that then he glanced at Harry with uncharacteristic bashfulness and murmured: "He treasures his books in a rather fierce manner," Lucius chuckled nervously eying the countless rows of bookshelves in the room. "Although there are no empty shelves in his library," he paused and turned his desperate grey gaze to Harry. "And you know what's rich? One wouldn't guess him to be older than you. He looks like a bloody teenager," he started cackling hysterically in a seemingly unstoppable fit.

Lucius' master was the same age as Harry? What the hell? But if he was so young he had to be... quite exceptional. And Lucius said he _looked_ like a teenager not that he actually was one. However could it be this master's magic Lucius was carrying? Was it a bond between a master and a servant of some sort they were sharing?

Suddenly Lucius seemed to come to himself, though it lasted only a short moment. Then he looked at Harry with hungry eyes and threw himself at the boy. Before he knew it Harry's back was against the wall and his front was covered by Lucius' firm body. He felt the other man's arousal pressing against his stomach until he was lifted up, his legs coming around Lucius' hips instinctively. No, he would not succumb to his body's silly whims. He wouldn't. Lucius' lips found a sensitive spot on his neck and sucked on it almost painfully. He hissed at the wave of heat coiling in his belly and sending hot pulsing blood to his crotch. His cock throbbed and he couldn't but rock his hips against the other man's . Their erections came together in a blissful moment of blinding pleasure and they both moaned loudly. Harry's fingers found their way into the incredibly soft long hair. Lucius' hand was on a hot-trailed journey up his chest under his T-shirt. Harry gasped as the older man's fingers found his nipple and twisted it mercilessly. His arousal now painful against Lucius', Harry let his legs fall to the floor.

"Wait," he whispered urgently in Lucius' ear feeling the shiver run its way down the other man's spine as Harry's breath brushed through his hair. With one wave of his hand Harry conjured a king-size bed. Lucius stared at it disbelievingly for an instant before turning his lust-filled eyes to the boy. With another wave of Harry's hand Lucius fell down on the bed sound asleep.

Harry sighed as he sat down in the crimson leather armchair gasping for breath. Not that he didn't find the man attractive, quite the opposite. This just wasn't the way he wanted to make his entrance in the Wizarding World. He was sure that if something happened now and the man were to find out how old he was, Lucius probably wouldn't be too pleased with himself. Harry knew he appeared to be older than his real age and the other man didn't look to be the paedophile type. And to be honest, he definitely hoped for his first time to be with someone sober. _You've almost lost it there, you dolt!_

Harry stood up and headed to the bed. He bent down over Lucius extending his senses to find the source of the foreign powerful magic. Harry finally took the man's left forearm and exposed the pale flawless skin stained by faint greyish lines. A snake and a skull. Not so cute. Still the magic was drawing him nearer. However when he felt the desperate urge to lick the marked skin, he quickly rolled Lucius' sleeve back down and went to sit back in his armchair.

He couldn't wait for the other man's reaction in the morning since he'd remember all the good parts. He snickered. Why was it that the rather modest number of his encounters with wizards happened while the investigated side was totally smashed? Well to set the record straight, he had to admit he'd been not so subtly implicated in getting this latest one drunk. Still he couldn't complain. If he were to judge the Wizarding World by Lucius' example, he'd say that when drunk, wizards were fairly entertaining.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.

The room was bathing in thick black shadows penetrated only by a silvery light coming through a window. Wine-coloured curtains were tucked to the sides allowing the moonlight free reign as far as it could reach. It fell on a marble windowsill, slithered across the smooth surface of a black writing desk, then got caught up in a mess of untameable dark locks before finally being sucked into the darkness. A broad mahogany bed occupied by a snoring blond entangled in seal brown satin sheets served as the only reminder of previous night's strange events.

Harry was sitting in his crimson armchair smoking his third cigarette in a row deep in thought. He was now in the complicated and lengthy process of absorbing all the recently gained information and making hopefully reasonable conclusions. He had to start planning as soon as possible. He wouldn't let himself get taken by surprise. This was a unique opportunity to start from scratch, an opportunity to come to a new society with a clean slate, to have people finally base their opinions on his actions and not on unjustified prejudices. An opportunity Harry had never truly expected to be given. He was so excited! He couldn't wait to enter the Wizarding World. Still he was aware it wouldn't be easy and he needed to be adequately prepared. Everything in its time.

First he needed a suitable guide. That was where Lucius came into the picture. Quite soon for Harry's taste. He growled and slumped in his seat drawing on the almost finished cigarette. He'd need to deal with the man in the morning. He was looking forward to watching the blond struggle his way through his hazy memories from last night, which would get rather clear and detailed from a certain point and wouldn't stop nagging him until... Well, it should be fun. Nevertheless, he knew he'd need to make some effort to gain the man's trust. Harry wasn't a fool. It was obvious that Lucius was a respectable, hard-working man and getting smashed most probably wasn't on his list of favourite leisure activities. If the blond were to blame Harry for last night's events, his dependence on Lucius' help could get quite bothersome.

Well, to be honest it was bothersome already. For Harry it had been a long and arduous way to admitting he actually needed the man. He'd even gotten himself to acknowledge the fact that it hadn't been the brightest idea to play with Lucius the way he had. And although the result of his manipulations hadn't been all that unpleasant, Harry had vowed he would never let himself get so out of control ever again. Not with the blond nor with anyone else. As a matter of fact it had been this vow that had stopped him from spelling Lucius' clothes off when he'd been for the hundredth time amusing himself with the image of the man's puzzlement come the morning.

Harry hissed in pain as the cigarette burned away and its hot end reached his fingers. He summoned an ashtray from downstairs and chuckled as it already half-filled landed in his hand. He added his butt to the lot and laid the ashtray aside on the coffee table. He leaned back comfortably against the overstuffed backrest trying to recall where he had stopped in his musings. Yes, Lucius. Blaming him. Right. He didn't expect the man to blame him. At least not for too long. When not intoxicated the blond had shown signs of steady rational thinking and sharp wit. Harry had been fairly astonished by how soon the man had pegged out after getting a bottle within his reach. Something had had to be eating away at the blond for quite some time. Something to do with his lord, his mysterious master.

It was irking Harry to no end that he didn't know a thing about the man, teen or whatever he was. The only useable information he had on the wizard was that he was powerful, possibly dangerous and his magic was able to awake something wild and sinful in Harry. He didn't like the last fact one bit. He wouldn't be controlled by anyone! Yet it was true. And all he could do was keep coming up with various rather feeble hypothesis. Lucius had let slip that they were somewhat alike, Harry and this master. Considering that, Harry was sure he wouldn't pass unnoticed by the wizard. In the end one of them would find his way to the other, even if drawn by mere curiosity. At least what Harry had felt of the man's magic promised that much. However, it was meaningless to speculate about the wizard now. It would only annoy him further and take him to misleading conclusions.

Back to Lucius. There was this… soft spot… could he word it that way? Well, Lucius seemed to have a soft spot for him. Wasn't that endearing? A few times since their first encounter in the bar Harry had noticed the man spacing out for almost imperceptible instants as if high on something. Harry had told himself he'd had no idea for how long the blond had been in the bar and just how many glasses had gone through his hands by the time he'd come. Now, he had to wonder. If the man had been already drunk when they'd met, there was no way he'd have made it through the rest of the evening and drinks still able to form a coherent word. Harry suspected that Lucius' blackouts had had something to do with his magic, though he'd need to test this theory. Had it perhaps been the appeal of Harry's magic that Lucius meant when saying he'd reminded him of his lord? One way or another, Lucius had a soft spot for him. Funny.

Still he hadn't dared to hope for Lucius to simply give in and play along when he had taken him from the bar by force and demanded answers. He had been prepared for anger and a thorough questioning. He had even foreseen a fight. Yet the man had gone along with his wishes and patiently as if talking to his son – at least that was how Harry imagined a father-son conversation – explained every single thing Harry asked about or seemed not to understand completely. And then they had actually discussed a few interesting topics concerning the Wizarding World. Harry had been fascinated by the concept of goblins managing the whole financial system. He couldn't decide what to make of a hundred-and-thirteen-year-old nuisance of a man handling a school-castle hidden away in the middle of Scotland. And called Hogwarts. Should he find it hilarious or unsettling? Then there'd been the matter of wands and wandless magic as Lucius had called it. He'd have to think on that later. And finally Harry had been most interested in the political scene, which had also been the point where Lucius had gotten somewhat vague in some of his responses and started looking rather uncomfortable. Still no one had ever talked with Harry like that. And he appreciated it. Quite a lot. No need to get sappy here. Right.

For some time he pondered on extracting his unfortunate slip of control from Lucius' mind but decided against it. He wanted help, honesty and trust from the man. He might as well be fair and treat him with some respect. It would be cowardly of him to avoid taking responsibility for his actions. And now he was getting not only sappy but also righteous. Jeez. Weariness was getting the better of him.

Harry yawned. From the armchair he reached for the first drawer of his writing desk, pulled it open and took out an old-looking silver pocket watch. Half past three. He could definitely use some sleep, though he would have more than enough time for that rotting the whole week in the orphanage.

He stood up, stretched himself and put the pocket watch back in the drawer. Then he walked alongside the rows of bookshelves and soon completely disappeared in the darkness. A tiny ball of light popped up in the air over his head in the next second. The room truly did seem endless. It took almost a whole minute until he reached the wall. He made his way into the very last aisle and crouched down to the lowest rack near the floor.

It was filled with notebooks. Some were bound in leather, some were common paperbacks and quite a few looked rather worse for wear. Harry took out one that was tucked away in the far corner. It was pretty thick, had a midnight blue leather cover and appeared new and untouched. There were silver letters imprinted on its spine reading _The Other World_.

As he walked back to the illuminated side of the room Harry ran his index finger over the writing and it immediately changed to _The Wizarding World_. As soon as he got to the desk he conjured a carved black wooden chair and sat on it. The ball of light grew bigger, floated over the desk and stayed hanging above the middle of it. Harry grabbed his beige fountain pen, opened the notebook on the first blank page and started scribbling away on it enthusiastically.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Couldn't Narcissa wake him up before drawing the bloody curtains apart? The sun was shining right in his face and was giving him a fierce headache. He wanted to call Dobby but found his mouth and throat so dry he doubted he could make a sound. With his eyes still closed he reached for the glass of water the house-elf always left on the bedside table. When his hand swept through empty space for the fifth time still not hitting the glass nor the table he tried to open his eyes. The heavy lids wouldn't move and stayed stubbornly glued together for so long that Lucius started coming to terms with the idea of staying blind as a mole for the rest of his life. Finally they gave in to his prodding and lazily fluttered open.

He stared dully at the too white ceiling for ages. Where was the canopy? He snapped his head to the left cringing at the pain that shot through his neck at the swift movement. Long stripes of black and blacker, the blacker ones with red patches in the middle. That was not the wardrobe he was expecting. He blinked and when the picture wouldn't change he frowned in confusion.

"Good morning," greeted an amused voice from his right and the muscles in Lucius' neck protested once again as he hastily searched for its source. There was a dark-haired young man sprawled casually across a crimson red armchair his legs crossed and dangling over one of the armrests. He had a closed book in his hand a finger stuck between the pages and a far too smug grin on his face for Lucius' liking. His eyes locked with the expectant bright green gaze and as if triggered by the contact it all came to him in a rush of blurred images. The unsuccessful meeting, the first drinks, the alluring magic, the intriguing conversation, drinks, the Apparation, drinks, what seemed like hours of explaining and debating, drinks, and then... Oh, Merlin! He could feel the teasing hand on his thigh, the legs wound tightly around his waist, the rock hard arousal pressing against his own... He felt himself harden from the bare memories and was suddenly grateful for the sheets covering him. This was absurd! And humiliating. Malfoys didn't blush. Then why did his cheeks feel so hot as an alarming suspicion flashed through his head? He hurriedly looked under the covers and sighed in relief when his eyes found the longed-for trousers in place.

A poorly suppressed chuckle sounded through the room and its lascivious quality didn't exactly help Lucius' current situation.

"May I use your bathroom?" he asked trying to appear unconcerned as he arduously climbed out of the bed.

"Be my guest," offered the boy graciously, though not bothering to hide his knowing smirk.

When Lucius raised a questioning eyebrow, Harry tilted his head to his left nonchalantly and Lucius saw a door appear where only unimpaired wall had been just a moment ago. He left it without comment and headed for the door feeling the lad's watchful gaze on him the whole time.

Lucius took care of himself as quickly as he could and returned to the room desperately forcing his dignity to stay intact. Harry had already conjured a second red armchair across from his own and Lucius took his seat without a word.

Compared to only a few minutes ago, the boy had a discreet air to him as if trying to make Lucius more comfortable. It seemed as if he had decided he'd had his fun and now it was time to get down to business. Although Lucius didn't know what to think of the teen's change of attitude, he couldn't help relaxing slightly.

"How are you feeling?" the boy had the nerve to ask. Lucius just gave him an unimpressed look, though Harry didn't appear put out by his lack of response.

"Do you want me to take the headache away?" asked the lad matter-of-factly.

Lucius swiftly masked his incredulity with a thoughtful expression and slowly nodded.

This time he sensed the magic coming before it started taking effect, not like before when the boy hadn't had his approval. It appeared friendly and gentle as it neared him. Then it embraced him. His head was immediately cuddled in a soft cocoon of warm and soothing energy. It felt heavenly! As the last prickles of pain were washed away by the balmy waves and Harry's magic gradually retreated, Lucius couldn't supress a sigh of loss.

He was now mercilessly reminded that it hadn't been only alcohol making him want to touch and pleasure the boy yesterday. He also had to acknowledge that his obstinate attraction to Harry - or was it the teen's magic playing tricks on him again? - hadn't been just yesterday's issue. Yet he couldn't think about it. At least not in the boy's presence. It was too dangerous. It was so damn irritating what the lad could do to him, how much control he could have over Lucius. But he was having none of this nonsense. Now with his head clear and sharp again he wouldn't let himself be fooled anymore.

"Thank you," he said truly grateful.                            

The boy nodded in acknowledgement and looked at him strangely before asking:

"Do you remember your promise from last night?"

"Rather clearly," Lucius responded. "Among other things," he added bitterly and regretted it instantly. The moment the words left his lips he could see Harry's so far perfect polite restraint shatter to pieces.

"Well, good for you," noted the boy innocently. However Lucius didn't believe that was all he had to say. And it wasn't. "Or should I say good for your libido, not so good for your conscience?" teased the lad mock thoughtfully.

"Aren't you quiet full of yourself?" snapped Lucius unable to help himself.

Harry seemed to swallow a spicy comeback and came out with a challenging smirk instead.

"Maybe a little bit. It never killed anyone," he cocked his head to one side playfully. "As if you're the one to talk," he finished cheekily his warm one would say fond eyes locking with Lucius'.

Lucius had to laugh. It was an honest and freeing kind of laughter that swept away most of his worries about the previous night and left him light-hearted. There had been a part of him that had linked all the unexpected, shocking, humiliating and all in all disagreeable events and emotions of this past night and labelled them _Harry._ That part had just died under the boy's glance. Harry wasn't going for - and succeeding in - humiliating him at all. He was just playing around and that was all there was to it. Yes, he was surprisingly powerful and devilishly intelligent but he was still only a teenager testing his limits. Yesterday in the bar and for the entire evening as well as this morning. Oh, he'd been such a fool.

However, the boy's quirks weren't the only thing that had been having Lucius troubled. He hadn't made it to the manor last night and even though Narcissa wasn't the jealous type, she wasn't a harmless naïve sheep either. If he somehow managed to make her suspicious, using extreme methods to discover the truth wasn't foreign to her. It wouldn't be his first time under his wife's Legilimency nor under her secret dose of Veritaserum. If she were to find out about this... madness, well, let's say it would be unpleasant.

And there was the Dark Lord. He feared to even think about his Lord getting to know that Lucius had not only been unable to accomplish his task - which wasn't his fault at all since the other negotiator hadn't shown up - but had also disclosed the classified information of his return to a complete stranger. The Dark Lord may be tolerant to Lucius' mistakes, though this would definitely hurt.

When he returned his attention to the boy, for a fraction of a second he thought he caught sight of a calculating expression. He blinked. No, Harry looked bored, utterly bored waiting for Lucius to finally say something.

"Exactly how strong is the spell that keeps me from revealing last night's events to a third person?" he obliged.

Instantly the boy's expression changed from bored to intrigued.

"I've been wondering whether you'd ask," Harry informed a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. "So you are married after all," he concluded to Lucius' bewilderment.

"How do you know I'm not asking to get more information on the spell and planning on breaking it?" inquired Lucius, still astonished by the boy's right assumption and trying to follow the train of thought that led Harry to predict and assess his behaviour so confidently.

"If you wanted to break the spell, you wouldn't have asked at least not directly. You would try to find your way around it on your own first. You wouldn't risk warning me by asking, because then I could take precautions and strengthen the spell or react violently if I believed you could threaten me with the information you possessed. Asking would be your last standby solution," Harry explained. "Well, if you gave the matter at least some thought and weren't a complete imbecile," he added daring Lucius to oppose him.

"And how do you know I don't want to break it?" questioned Lucius curiously. He couldn't but agree with Harry's reasoning.

"I never claimed you didn't want to or wouldn't want to break it eventually. I merely implied it hadn't been the reason why you'd asked," clarified the boy flatly, obviously not interested in discussing the matter any further.

"So, back to your promise. Do you intend to keep it?" inquired Harry changing the subject.

"It depends on what you expect when asking for help in the society. If you demand private meetings with high politicians, flattery in the right ears and my noticeable support in public, I'm not the man you're searching for," answered Lucius earnestly.

"I hope I'm not that inept. All I ask is for you to help me enter the society. That means arranging an invitation to a social event and be at my disposal for said occasion. I'd prefer for the event to be somewhat significant, so that I would have a chance to make acquaintances with influential figures. Although if you are apprehensive of being associated with me in the future, I can make do with something less public," explicated the boy in a business-like manner which had Lucius quite astounded.

He thought it over and decided:

"I'd be willing to do that for you, though first I'd like to know a little more about you. Tell me about your family situation, your education-," he wanted to go on but was cut off by Harry's response.

"Sounds fair," nodded the boy. "My family situation is rather non-existent, since I have no family. I've lived at Winter's Orphanage far longer than can be healthy. I suppose my current education level could be compared to the one of a secondary school graduate when taken from the muggle point of view. There's not much you can do in an orphanage, if you aren't fond of playing silly pointless games or bullying other kids, you know? Read and study is pretty much the only thing there is for you, if you don't want to die of boredom."

It was no surprise, really. There was no way the teen was a mudblood. No mudblood could hold such power. As Harry hadn't known about the wizarding world, there was little to no chance that his parents were alive. That could be a delicate matter so he'd ask about Harry's parents later, when he had answers to his other questions. Concerning education, Lucius didn't really care about muggle titles. It was sufficient to know the boy had a brain in his head and knew how to use it.

Now since he couldn't judge the boy's character by his attitude to his parents, he'd have to adapt to the situation and work with a group of kids.

"In children's hierarchy there are four types of children. The bullies, the bullies' cronies, the bullied and occasionally the sympathetic and for some reason tolerated friends of the bullied. I can't imagine you as any other type than the bully," uttered Lucius thoughtfully.

"You make it sound as if kids ran their own politics," Harry laughed.

"And don't they?" implied Lucius.

"When you put it the way you have, it sounds like they do. Although in fact they don't. Let's ask a simple question. What's the basis of politics? There's of course a complex and much more sophisticated answer but essentially, politics is based on the choice of opinion. You can have free choice of opinion. In such case you use the acts of persuasion and manipulation to achieve your goals. Then you can have limited or no choice of opinion. Meaning you use force, ploy or sycophancy to get your way. Now try to find a corresponding pattern in the workings of a group of children. Do you see the difference? For example, what can your "bullied" do to accomplish their goals? Will it help them if they use any of the means I named in their position? Of course not, because they are along with the "bullies" children and therefore can't think rationally. Their motives may seem at times ridiculously simple, though sometimes they are only illogical whims of given moment. You can't apply the rules of politics on children because where there's no sense, there are no rules," the boy set forth and like an experienced conversationalist waited for his words to sink in.

Lucius had felt his opinion change on its own accord during Harry's speech. Although the topic was of no great importance and Lucius had never truly given it much thought, it was scary what the teen could do. The lad was good, he had to give him that. Where had the kid gotten such insight? Now he understood what the boy had meant when he had sarcastically "hoped not to be that inept". He was good.

"But you were curious about my stand in the "children's hierarchy" as you called it," Harry snickered. "Bullies generally choose their victims between the weak that can't defend themselves. I find no satisfaction in winning over someone I consider weak. I guess I make a whole new type of children then. The ones that don't care about petty fights sufficiently not to take part in them and capable of one effective demonstration of what will happen to anyone stupid enough to try to force them. In other words the blissfully ignorant and wisely ignored in return," the boy finished giving Lucius a toothy grin.

"That sounds like a dangerous type," noted Lucius.

"I suppose it is," Harry chuckled.

They sat in silence for a while before Harry asked:

"Want some coffee?"

"Yes, I'd like that," Lucius nodded. He had no objection to continuing his questioning over a hot drink.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

_That went well_ , thought Harry standing up and letting the oak spiral staircase appear in the middle of the room near the wall to his left. Lucius had been as expected fishing for information. It was satisfying to see that although he had in fact given the man next to nothing he had made Lucius feel as if he cooperated without second thought. It would stop the man from prying too much. Too much being the key word. He'd still have to see the blond out as soon as possible. It was dangerous to stay in Lucius' presence in his current position. As much as he hated it, he was dependant on the man's help and since Lucius had agreed to Harry's conditions he was now free to ask some favours in return. If they were to be answers, Harry wouldn't give them up without a fight. The less the man knew about him, the better. He trusted his spell to keep Lucius' mouth shut but was aware he couldn't afford to leave anything to chance. He almost snickered out loud. It had been so easy to make Lucius forget about his original intention when he'd asked about the spell's strength. Well, why should he give the man undesirable leads when he didn't have to? So easy.

He had to wonder, if Lucius' master would be able to feel Harry's magic on Lucius as he had felt the mark on the man. That could set the wizard on Harry's track. Should he be scared or excited? _If the man is smart enough to work out the way around the spell, I'd be delighted to meet him. So if he finds me, he'll practically spare me the work of searching for him. I shouldn't make it too easy for him though._ He smirked.

Now he needed to startle Lucius out of his questioning mode to ask some questions of his own. All it would require was a sufficient distraction and Harry was sure he would be provided with a pretty effective one soon enough.

Harry headed for the staircase motioning for Lucius to follow him and simultaneously summoning the ashtray and a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper from his writing desk.

"Can't you just conjure it?" asked Lucius looking hopeful.

"No, it's impossible to conjure food and drinks," Harry informed suspecting the blond had already known. He observed Lucius closely and had to fight back a chuckle when the man suppressed a sigh of relief.

"How can you be so sure it's impossible? You simply might not have worked out how to do it," suggested the blond trying to sound indifferent but Harry could still make out a slight trace of irritation.

"I'm quite full of myself, remember?" said Harry walking down the stairs snickering quietly as he heard the other man snort behind his back.

The image that greeted him when he entered the door wasn't at all unexpected, though that didn't make it any less amusing. The room could be almost considered a work of art it was such an incredible mess. Someone had had to work really hard to put it in its present state of absolute chaos. Said someone was currently in the tiny kitchen across the room grovelling on his knees and seemed to be trying to fit his head in the microscopic gap between the ancient cooker and the floor.

"Morning, old man," Harry called out to the crouched figure.

"Morning Mr Perfect," mumbled the man automatically.

"Seems I can relish doing the cleaning again," Harry pronounced as clearly as he could. It worked, he knew it would.

The man scrambled to his feet rather hastily.

"Morning Mr Perfect," he bellowed once more. He picked up a cup of coffee from the sink and set off jumping from the kitchen towards them, the mud-coloured liquid slopping wildly from the cup in his hand.

"Lucius, meet the one and only Gerald Owen Sanderson," Harry introduced theatrically noting a flicker of recognition in Lucius' eyes at the name. Curious. "He's nuts," he added quite needlessly.

Before Lucius could react Mr Sanderson addressed him in an accusing voice:

"Mr Blondie why did you steal my ashtray?" asked the old man ignoring the glass bowl in Harry's hand.

"Lucius didn't steal anything. I borrowed it last night," he explained dispassionately, trying very hard to keep a straight face seeing Lucius' displeased scowl from the corner of his eye. He handed the ashtray to the old man, who accepted it excitedly and started to study it closely sinking on the flowered sofa-bed.

"Blondie? Seriously?" huffed Lucius indignantly.

"It's not the worse you could get, believe me," Harry assured him supressing his amusement.

"How come you are Mr Perfect?" wondered Lucius.

"Isn't that obvious?" implied Harry with a smirk.

A smile tugged at Lucius' lips until he started scrutinizing their surroundings. Then his expression changed to one of poorly concealed disgust.

"What is this place?" asked the man his tone far from showing polite interest.

"Let's take this to the sitting room, shell we?" suggested Harry not offended in the slightest turning back to the staircase and opening the first door to his right.

It was a rather small and modestly furnished but cosy room with an open fireplace and a balcony. There was only one round table with four plain padded chairs around all in the warm shades of cherry wood.

"Make yourself at home, I'll be back with the coffee," said Harry putting the brown paper package down on the table and leaving Lucius in the room by himself.

He walked through Mr Sanderson's room noticing the man had already lit himself a cigarette and was now puffing on it contentedly sprawled over the sofa-bed the glass ashtray in his hand.

"We'll be leaving soon, old man," Harry notified making his way to the kitchen and letting the door fall shut behind him. He conjured two simple white cups and filled them with water, which he heated to the boiling point with a quick spell. Then he added the coffee, made the liquid stir for a bit before cooling it to a drinkable temperature. Heading to the sitting room, he swiftly glanced at the grandfather clock near the staircase. Ten fifteen. He wouldn't even have to lie. Perfect.

Placing the cups on the table he settled in the chair opposite Lucius. He raised a questioning eyebrow at the man when he stared at Harry expectantly.

"An underage wizard and an insane old muggle, you have to admit that you two aren't exactly a pair of housemates one comes across every day," Lucius finally implied.

"I suppose you are right," acknowledged Harry suspecting where the man was going with this but not willing to help him get there.

"What is the relationship between the two of you?" inquired Lucius.

"I need him and he's better off having me around," explained Harry vaguely. Just great. So much for startling Lucius out of his questioning mode.

"So you aren't related?" the man queried looking relieved.

"No, I've already told you I have no family," Harry reminded.

"How can you live with him like this?" asked Lucius shaking his head uncomprehendingly.

"Oh, you mean the mess? The place was spotless yesterday afternoon. The old man can be sprightly and surprisingly creative when he wants to though," snickered Harry.

"It's not just the mess. You seem to have a decent flat upstairs. Considering you are an orphan I have to wonder where you got the finances to buy such an elegant place. On the other hand, what I've seen down here is a disgrace. How can you live in this house, know what's below you and-," Lucius' words were drowned out by Harry's laughter.

He couldn't help himself. Lucius was just so deliciously upper class. Thoroughly spoilt by years of floating on his cloud of infinite luxury and now appropriately outraged by imperfection interfering with his flawless little world.

"I wasn't lying when I told you I lived at Winter's. The room upstairs isn't a flat, it's my Office and it is in every way possible a work of magic," Harry informed somewhat proudly when he composed himself. "As for the rest of your speech, I am quite confused about what your point is. Is it that if I don't mind living above such disgrace as you put it I have no morals? Or is it that in given case I have no taste?" he asked bluntly.

Lucius seemed properly affronted and Harry was pleasantly surprised. He didn't expect the man to take the jab. Maybe there was some ethics in the blond after all.

"What exactly are you implying? I have no interest in muggle filth. My only point is a wizard shouldn't live among such scum, that's all," Lucius retorted.

That had Harry taken aback, though he managed to keep his expression unaffected. He might not have been reading the man as well as he had thought. _Muggle filth. That's harsh._ What Harry found disgraceful was the narrow-minded attitude to unknown and new, the envy and covetousness, the always shifting suggestible public opinion... He could enumerate thousands of things he hated with a passion. But the people wouldn't be one of them! It would be most ignorant to hate the people. Some were brilliant and kind and insightful and hard-working and loving and funny and smart and... Hating them all was just absurd. Or was he naïve? No, after all the hatred he received from this world he was sure he could rely on his judgment. If he was able not to despise the people that had with only few exceptions brought nothing good only obstacles to his life, there had to be something to it. And the man sitting across from him didn't seem to see it. Were all wizards so hostile towards muggles? If yes, was there any way he could make them understand how wrong they were? _Oh, cut the crap. You are getting way ahead of yourself! Do what you need to do first, then think about your noble rubbish._ Right. He needed to enter the Wizarding World before changing it. He had to laugh at himself internally for getting so carried away. He'd tell Lucius what he thought of the matter one day. Just not today.

"I'm not implying anything. Now let us move to more pressing issues," he said conciliatorily and paused to search Lucius' face for evidence that the man had calmed down sufficiently for Harry to safely make requests. Finding what he'd been looking for he continued carefully choosing every word: "I've been wondering how the Wizarding World deals with people like me. You know, orphans," Harry said testing the waters.

Lucius pondered it for a while. Then he sighed and answered: "To tell you the truth I don't really know. There aren't any wizarding orphanages that I'm aware of. I suppose it is always considered a responsibility of the closest relative to take care of a child that lost both parents. In case there is no living family left, the Ministry finds a suitable guardian."

Harry had anticipated as much and even though the solution seemed better than the muggle one, he cursed it thoroughly. He didn't need a bloody guardian. He didn't need anyone controlling his decisions, questioning his actions and demanding explanations of his motives, thank you very much. Although he doubted he would be treated badly, he was sure the wizard or witch would always have the upper hand over him and he just couldn't have that. It had taken too much effort to arrange living conditions in this world that made him somewhat independent to rush somewhere he could be deprived of his freedom so easily. There had to be another way and he would find it. Later.

"And I presume that it is compulsory for an underage wizard to attend school?" inquired Harry.

"Yes, until you reach seventeen years of age, it is unavoidable unless you hire a private tutor," informed Lucius still in the dark about where Harry was going with this.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you arrange a meeting with someone who is familiar with these legal issues, who would be able to assist me with filling the required forms and taking the best course of action? I would appreciate a discreet person who can be trusted," requested Harry politely.

"Yes, that can be easily taken care of. But tell me. What do I gain by doing you these favours? What will you do to pay me back?" challenged Lucius.

"Let's say I owe you one," offered Harry smirking confidently setting his magic free for an instant now that he was sure of the effect it had on Lucius knowing that otherwise his response would sound lame and intentionally vague.

Lucius supressed a gasp as the powerful wave of energy hit his senses, then studied Harry for a moment with an unreadable expression which turned into a calculating one when he concluded:

"Alright, I'll do it. I know just the man. Should I send him over to… Winter's Orphanage, was it? Would Thursday be satisfactory? Concerning your other request I'll have let you know via letter by the end of the week," Lucius informed in a business-like manner.

"It's a deal," nodded Harry contentedly. "Now if you don't have other urgent matters to discuss, I have to be at the orphanage by eleven," he said rising from his chair.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you how I should arrange these meetings for you when I am under a spell that prevents me from talking about your requests," Lucius wondered somewhat triumphant about the fact that he'd found a flaw in Harry's planning.

"I've already cancelled it, there shouldn't be any problems," answered Harry concealing his amusement. Although he didn't want to give out any more information than necessary about the spell, he had to admit that this question was reasonable and he had expected Lucius to ask.

"What do you mean, you cancelled it?" inquired Lucius looking horrified.

"I doubt your wife will be able to extract anything about yesterday night from your mind by any means," Harry chuckled. "Still, you should be able to reveal what will be needed," explained Harry as vaguely as he could.

Lucius stared at him before snapping out of his shocked stupor and asking dully:

"How the hell do you know about my wife?"

"Well since gay marriage wasn't legal last time I checked and you didn't object when I said you were married, I assumed your spouse was a woman." He tilted his head to one side thoughtfully and then continued: "Even if the law's different in the Wizarding World, you haven't said a word about last night, nor have you tried to jump me again so far so... Do you really want to talk about this now that you are not under the spell anymore?" by the time Harry finished Lucius was squirming in his seat uncomfortably and his cheeks had a pink tinge to them. Still Harry kept his amusement in check. He wanted the man willing to help him, not furious.

"Although I've found your company very enjoyable, I'm sure you have places to be, people to see and otherwise be your busy influential self," concluded Harry standing up this time more resolutely, snatching the package from the table and walking over to the door with Lucius on his heels.

When they made their way through the long dark corridor and Lucius was about to walk down the stairs to have more space for Apparation, Harry held out the package for him to take.

"Should you find the time and desire to broaden your horizons…" said Harr with a smirk leaving the man standing confused with the package in his hand and shutting the door in his face.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

After Apparating to Malfoy Manor Lucius started walking briskly down the shadowed empty corridor leading to his study. He had letters to write concerning Harry's requests among other things. Shaking his head over the brat's infuriating antics he ripped the brown paper to examine the contents of the package the lad had given him.

As he touched the object inside, there was a surge of magic enveloping him and then swiftly disappearing leaving him with doubts if it really had happened. It was Harry's magic, that much he could feel, but what had it done? For all he knew it could have been a tracking spell or some kind of insurance that he would truly do what they had agreed on. And it could have been nothing as well, just an attempt to make him think those things. Since he couldn't tell though… Damn the boy was smart.

He turned his attention to the charmed object. It was a thick book with a picture of a man in a weird hat with a pipe dangling from his lips on the front cover. The golden writing on its spine read _Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.

He strode down a narrow alley in muggle London swearing under his breath. Hadn't he told Lucius like hundred times every summer? He does research work on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays and is not to be disturbed. That is law. Not for the blond ponce apparently. He huffed startling an old lady with a disgustingly yellow shawl walking in the opposite direction to such extent that she almost hit him with her aluminium walking stick. He snarled at her just for the joy of it and watched in amusement as she hurriedly scuttled off, her eyes like saucers. Muggles.

He still quite couldn't fathom why he had agreed to this. He had always prided himself on his immunity to Lucius' persuasive manoeuvres. Yet, here he was, wasting his precious time to satisfy the curiosity of some brat who couldn't even take the trouble to give his last name. Or was he wasting his precious time to satisfy his own curiosity about the brat? He snorted as he turned the corner.

There seemed to be something remarkable going on. A teenager had caught Lucius' attention? That was unheard of. And the blond had offered the kid selfless help? Lucius never did such unprofitable nonsense unless it concerned the few people he considered under his protection. He was famous for his opportunism. It was after all the origin of the better part of his influence and popularity. He managed to arrange impossible things for people asking favours in return already fulfilling other peoples' equally impossible wishes. It was a never-ending circle of requests and gratitude. Lucius' whole life could be encapsulated in the words quid pro quo. _And now he goes, meets a teenager in a bar and bends over backwards to oblige him having in return nothing but "I owe you"? Being all secretive and uneasy about the whole matter?_ That didn't seem like the man at all! Something perplexing was happening. He was known to be undeceivable in his observations and this issue was all but inviting him to use the skill.

The strangest thing of all was the initial reason Lucius gave for approaching him. He was apparently the only person Lucius knew to have some experience in dealing with muggleborns. Mind you, friendly dealing. Otherwise he would be far from alone on the list of the other man's acquaintances and probably the last person trusted enough to be given confidential information. At least it had seemed as such when Lucius had been talking about the boy. The man had been uncharacteristically weary, carefully choosing his every word, suddenly falling silent in the middle of sentences, immediately dropping subjects and shaking his head in irritation afterwards. If he hadn't been familiar with Lucius' pride he would have asked the man who'd made him Vow. As it was he could only guess. Had it been the boy? Surely Lucius wouldn't care to bind himself to a teenager, would he?

He turned another corner and came to an abrupt halt as he took in the sight of his supposed destination. He'd seen quite a few scary things during his Death Eater career and sure knew how to keep his cool when faced with a gloomy place, though the scenery before him managed to send chills down his spine nonetheless.

Seemingly floating in mid-air above the thick white morning mist there was a huge three-storey building one certainly wouldn't place in central London as it resembled an ancient country manor. It was built in a plain style and the two gables were the only deviation from its otherwise strictly regular features. The solid grey walls towered threateningly over all the houses nearby and had an air of inexplicable hopelessness about them that overwhelmed him for a moment.

He fought back a shudder and briskly headed off for the iron gate that emerged from the fog as he was nearing the building. Although he hadn't expected an orphanage to be overflowing with love and joy, he hadn't anticipated such a miserable atmosphere either. There were children living inside these cold walls... No, it could be as wretched as it wished and definitely shouldn't be affecting him so.

In response to a firm flick of his wand the gate swung open and he strode down the thin path cutting through a wild uncultivated lawn. Suddenly a tabby brown cat sprung out of the tall grass and dashed across the lane before disappearing between the stems again. He would have sworn it had only one eye and a gaping black hole instead of the other. Or was he hallucinating? He shivered involuntarily. This place was creeping him out more and more and he was hating every minute of it. He couldn't care less about the boy he was about to meet, this damned orphanage or all the gloominess in the world. He angrily covered the distance separating him from the entrance.

Ready to knock his hand stilled an inch from the unvarnished wooden door. He was being irrational. He needed to calm down, to switch on his professional demeanour. Other people's opinions didn't concern him at all, but he knew it wouldn't be wise to be outright hostile towards the mysterious boy. Honestly, he had no idea what to expect. Sighing he searched for a doorbell. He found it on the wall to his right under a shabby golden plate reading _Winter's Orphanage_ and ringed once.

There seemed to be sudden commotion inside, starting with a loud thud followed by a startled yelp and some colourful swearing. The voice was distinctly a woman's but from the force of the thumps and creaks that could be heard afterwards he would assume there was a mountain troll or at least someone the size of Rubeus Hagrid walking down a very old and tumbledown staircase. Then there was a rattle of keys and finally the door opened and offered him a view he wouldn't be able to wipe out of his living memory for a very long time.

The middle-aged woman before him was so large one could speculate whether she was hiding a baby hippogriff under her cheep-looking maroon dress which was alarmingly short and showed the better part of her bulky knees. Her features were mostly undefined and if there had been beauty, it had long since given way to fat. Her dirty blond hair was tied up in what might have been a nice tight bun right about three days ago and was currently close to the most unappealing tousle he had ever seen.

"Wah d'you want?" she drew out rather loudly in an apathetic voice leaning against the doorframe her piggy eyes falling shut repeatedly of their own accord.

"I would like to speak with one of your wards," he said desperately forcing his tone to remain polite, his pronunciation corrections to be left unspoken and his wand hand to stay unmoving by his side.

"'N'is ungodly hour?" asked the woman dully apparently stifling a yawn.

"If you consider eight o'clock in the morning as such then yes, in this ungodly hour," he replied in a low dangerous voice fuming internally.

She gave a deep sigh rubbing her fleshy hip with her right hand unconsciously pulling the hem of her dress even higher and revealing more of the pale knee beneath it - being completely unaware of the mortal peril she was bringing about on herself with the thoughtless action.

"'Mon in then," she finally muttered waving her beefy hand at him in reluctant invitation.

He followed her into the house trying to avoid catching sight of her backside as they climbed up the squeaky wooden stairs.

When they reached the first floor, the corpulent woman tried in vain to adjust her hair before knocking on the door right across from the staircase. Hearing a firm "come in" from inside she gestured for him to wait and entered the room closing the door behind her.

Mentally promising Lucius painful death he took in his surroundings. The building really was huge. It was obviously very old, yet surprisingly clean and unlike that excuse for a woman it seemed well-kept. Well, if one didn't count the dilapidated staircase connecting all the three storeys. From what he could see from where he was standing, the second floor was similar to this one consisting of one long corridor and countless identical doors in light colour with black numbers at the eye level. On the ground floor there was probably a dining hall and a common room of some sort judging by what he had caught sight of when they'd walked through the hallway. On the first landing he had spotted a glass door which he guessed led to the room where the hefty woman had been taking a nap before he had disturbed her.

As if she'd heard his thoughts the horrid creature came out of what he now noticed was the only unmarked room around. She motioned for him to enter and slowly waddled down the staircase without giving him a second look. Not that he minded. Still, it was offensive.

The moment he set foot in the austere oblong office a stern voice greeted him:

"Good morning, Mr-" an elderly woman whose obvious strictness could almost rival Minerva McGonagall's addressed him leaving a pregnant pause for him to fill in. As he studied her he came to realize she resembled the reserved transfiguration professor in more ways than one. She was about the same height, slender, dark-haired, wrinkled and tough-looking. Even her office seemed somewhat spartan like Minerva's.

"Severus Snape," he completed extending his hand. Only then did she rise from her chair, took the few steps separating them and shook the offered hand.

"Adelphia Jane Hutcher, matron of Winter's Orphanage. How can I help you Mr Snape?" she quickly withdrew her hand and went to sit back in her chair without offering a seat to Severus. It was quite evident she was aware of and greatly enjoying her current position of power. As Severus ticked and crossed out various items on the imaginary list of characteristics of Minerva McGonagall depending on whether they corresponded with Ms Hutcher's personality, he had to note down "bossy" at the end.

"I would appreciate if I could talk to one of the boys in your care. To Harry," he watched her eyes widen at the specification.

"And what business do you have with Harry if I may ask?" she inquired wryly and Severus had to add "bitter" on the bottom of his list.

"It concerns his schooling," he answered hoping for her to let him get his job done already so that he could return to the lovably mute unfinished research waiting for him in his lab as soon as possible.

"What about it?" Ms Hutcher questioned and Severus put down "nosy".

"According to their testament his parents wanted Harry to study at a certain boarding school. I would like to ensure he has the opportunity to fulfil their wishes," Severus lied fluently.

"I believe it is my decision considering we are talking about an underage person as you said yourself in my care," Hutcher retorted. Severus resolutely scribbled "self-important".

"And who are you to him anyway?" she questioned away and Severus underlined "nosy" rather vigorously.

"Besides, he has everything he needs here, it is not necessary to confuse him with a change of environment," she continued as if arguing with herself not with Severus.

In the middle of "ignorant" he paused and decided this kind of approach wasn't helping at all. It only quickened the rising of his temper. Apparently this shrew had nothing in common with Minerva McGonagall perhaps aside from a few similarities in appearance here and there and her rather punctilious sense of order. He had his wand in hand the next second sending a quick Imperius her way. Sensing the well-known addictive feeling of having all the strings controlling another human mind firmly in his grasp, he mentally instructed her what to do.

"Please, come with me, I will take you to Harry's room?" she beckoned him jerkily to the door her brown eyes glazed over.

She led him up the stairs to the second floor, then turned left and walked almost to the end of the corridor stopping in front of the door marked with a flaking black number 4. Sending Hutcher back to her office with an importunate urge to have a doze he paused with his hand on the doorknob for a moment. Then he slowly, noiselessly opened the door.

The room was rather small, elongated and furnished with tacky old furniture comprised of two beds, one flimsy-looking wardrobe, a simple wooden table under a tiny window, and a chair. Said chair was currently occupied by a messy-haired boy seemingly engrossed in a newspaper his legs flung across the table in a comfy manner, his back turned to Severus.

"Anyone ever initiated you into the mysteries of knocking?" the boy prodded playfully confusing Severus. The voice sounded familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. The teen placidly put the paper on the table, swung his legs down on the floor and turned in his chair to pierce Severus with an intent green gaze.

His breath caught in his throat as he met those eyes. His imagination transformed the boy before him into a beautiful red-haired woman and back again the enchanting green orbs along with some facial features staying firmly in place the whole time. Severus felt dizzy all of a sudden.

"Harry Potter?" he breathed in disbelief.

The boy visibly snapped on guard the moment the name left Severus' lips.

"Do I know you?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, I don't think you do," whispered Severus unable wrap his head around the fact that it was truly Harry Potter sitting right here in front of him. When it finally clicked into place, he was overwhelmed with innumerable emotions some of which he couldn't even find names for. The prevailing one was relief. After so many years of teaching he would never expect that seeing a teenager could trigger a wave of such wonderful relief flooding his mind and heart. Lily had left a piece of herself behind and he had found it. He had known she'd had a son and used to dream about him in the years after her death. He'd dreamed about the boy's silky red hair, brilliant green eyes, stubbornly set jaw and above all about his forgiveness.

He hadn't realized it until now but at some point during the twelve long years he had ceased to hope there would be any trace of the woman he loved in his life ever again. He had come to the painful conclusion he'd deserved it as a punishment for what he had done. And now he was in the same room with her very much corporeal and healthy-looking son who despite the unmistakably Potter hair distinctly resembled Lily. He could even hear a tinge of her voice in the boy's. There was her blood in his veins...

His vision blurred slightly and he sensed a germ of a headache as another rush of emotions flooded his brain. This time it was a mixture of sadness, regret, worry and anger. Lily's son had to endure living at this horrible place. The conditions in which Harry had apparently spent his childhood didn't correspond with what Dumbledore had presented to the media two years ago in the slightest. It felt surreal that someone adored and worshipped by the better part of the wizarding world had been left to rot among muggles and seek help from none other than Lucius Malfoy whose loyalties lied firmly on the side Lily's child in particular should have no dealings with.

Lily's child. Malfoy. Dumbledore assuring him the boy was safe. Dumbledore's expression when faced with the corpse of the red-headed girl in June. His subconscious screaming Voldemort, hope and despair taking turns in crushing his self-invoked apathy. Recognizing the first signs affirming his premonition. Irresolution. And now Lily's child. Lily's blood. Lily's eyes. Something snapped.

The world swayed in front of his eyes and he was distantly aware of arms coming around his waist supporting him on his strangely shaky legs. Laboriously he made it to one of the beds and sank down on it gracelessly. Feeling balmy energy soothing his heartache, listening to a voice so similar to Lily's it almost made him cry but not understanding a word it was saying, letting the cigarette smoke fill his nostrils he sat there in a daze.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Harry eyed the gobsmacked stranger varying between amused and weary. He probably ought to start getting used to being stared at incredulously should his interactions with wizards go on like this. He supposed he had a talent to baffle people and to be honest he enjoyed doing it. Intentionally. This, however, was unexpected and rather counterproductive considering he needed the man, who currently looked ready to faint, conscious and able to answer his questions.

"Please, take a seat," he tried not really expecting to succeed in luring the man out of his state of mental shutdown. When there was no reaction and the wizard started leaning dangerously to one side, after a second of thinking he decided that to let him hit the floor wasn't the best way of getting him out of his stupor, and helped the man sit down on his bed.

Once sure the stranger was steadily seated Harry made himself as comfortable as one could be on the hard wooden chair and studied the delirious man finally taking in his appearance. He was very slender, tall and pale, though not naturally fair-skinned like Lucius, one could tell this man didn't spend much time outdoors. He had lank black hair barely reaching his shoulders, a hooked nose, high cheekbones, a firmly set jaw, and dark seemingly permanently narrowed distrustful eyes presently gazing on the opposite wall.

He wasn't dressed in wizarding robes, Harry noted with some disappointment, he would have loved to see Mrs Hutcher's reaction to a man apparently wearing a dress. However, the trousers, the shirt and the coat - seriously, a coat in the middle of summer holidays? - were perfectly muggle and all in dull colours clearly stating the purpose "to pass unnoticed". From the little he had seen of the man's bearing, Harry guessed he was passionate. Yet not in a volatile, impressionable manner, in the determined and admirable way Harry had for whatever reason associated with brilliant artists and scientists – even though he'd never met any.

Then a worrying fact hit home. This man knew his name. What else did he know? Were any of his secrets in danger of being revealed? Should he delete the man's memories? No, that was not an option, he couldn't introduce himself to the Wizarding World by putting people under silencing spells and wiping out memories left, right and centre, that would do no good to his currently wonderfully unblemished reputation.

Although not as distinct as it had been on Lucius he also felt the mysterious lord's mark in this man's magic and he reckoned it could be counted as punishable to erase the memory of one of his servants. He didn't fear the wizard. Still, he didn't wish to get on the wrong side of the lord from the very beginning since he wanted to know whom he was dealing with first and only afterwards judge or alternatively make enemies. That meant he would have to question this man thoroughly and resolve whatever problem in an inventive and inconspicuous manner.

Well, now the man was in no state to give him any reasonable answers. He mentally browsed through the books he'd read on psychology shutting them angrily when he found no usable advice. He knew how to treat Mr Sanderson since the old man was mostly funny and only slightly annoying at times but always self-reliant if needed be. It irritated Harry to no end that he was quite lost in this situation. He had to help the man somehow though. Sending a wave of calming magic towards the man and calling on his patience he settled for testing popular wisdom.

"They say that talking to people in shock helps them come back to themselves but they also say it might give them a claustrophobic feeling. So, I'll talk to you for a bit and then give you time to make sense of whatever it is that pushed you over the edge, okay? Mind if I smoke?," he didn't wait for an answer sure there wouldn't be any, pulled out a cigarette - his emergency supply - from inside his pillowcase and lit it with a snap of his fingers.

How to put a man at ease? He should probably act predictably, act his age. He was a teenager, wasn't he? How do teenagers behave? What do they talk about? They think everything is funny and sulk a lot. Not so useful. They talk about rubbish. _Just say the stupidest things that come to your mind at given moment. Idiot._ Right. Talk rubbish, he could do that.

"I heard you ring, I know you don't have things like doorbells in the Wizarding World so you've had to spend some time among muggles, right? Anyway, you rang. I suppose you probably woke up Walkinglard," at that the man turned his glazed eyes to him but there was no sigh of resentment at the offensive nickname nor was there any recognition of whom he was talking about. There was simply nothing. Harry almost shivered, staring into those unseeing eyes. This was exactly how he had always imagined Winston after re-education at the end of 1984. Dull, vacant, uncomprehending.

He drew desperately on the cigarette and continued:

"Don't look at me like that. That's what the old man calls her, you know? You have to admit it is rather fitting. As are all the soubriquets he gives people for that matter. If it won't be the smoking I bet his sharp tongue will be the death of him one of these days. Still, however amusing it may be, it gives me a headache at times. For one, take Walkinglard. Her name is Matilda Dunnaby. Sometimes you can make people believe it has been only a slip of the tongue, but Walkinglard and Dunnaby? No chance. It's a good thing she doesn't care much about anything," he fell silent for a moment, tapping the ash off on the linoleum and smearing it with the sole of his once white trainer. He was pants at acting without an audience, without feedback. A man who seemed completely out of it didn't really count. This was bloody ridiculous. _Shut it and talk!_

He sighed and went on:                                                           

"What I'll never forget is the day when he first met Mrs Hutcher. I hadn't told him a thing about her, I swear, and he just looked her straight in the eye and rasped out: "You must be Mrs Harridan. Charmed." And her expression! It took me all I had not to laugh. Well, she knew the old man was touched in the head so I made up this story how for whatever reason he had decided to call the orphanage a den and I couldn't stop him from referring to it as to Harry's den ever since and because she had been its matron and owner, the old man had probably by some mental somersault concluded the orphanage had been named after her. Harridan. The explanation was rather lame and completely barmy, though the funniest thing was she actually believed every word of it and had a good laugh over it.

"I wonder how you have gotten over the old hag. She's kind of immune to every diplomatic and peaceful approach. I hope you didn't kill her though," he looked at the man questioningly, Lucius' comment about "muggle filth" still quite fresh in his memory. He was right in time to catch sight of a flinch, probably at the word "kill", he supposed. Maybe that was part of shocked people's automatic mechanism of self-preservation. But there was a reaction! At last. His job was done here, he was certain as he watched the other man's eyes slowly brighten.

"So, I guess I've made enough of an ass of myself for now. As you woke Walkinglard, I have to return the paper to her letterbox early before she decides to go and fetch it, which should be somewhere around noon, though better safe than sorry," he babbled climbing upon the rickety table.

He opened the tiny window a crack, stubbed out the cigarette against the tiled sill and threw it out. Then he quickly waved his hand exchanging the air in the room with some from outside. The spell gave rise to strong wind which swept through the confided space making the still motionless man's black hair fly wildly around his head emphasizing his crazed look. Harry felt an inexplicable urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. This all was happening at Winter's with the old hag and Walkinglard present in the building. Who would have guessed. Shutting the window he jumped down from the table, snatched the newspaper and strode quickly out of the room before he could give way to his mirth.

Harry closed the door behind himself and leaned his back against the smooth cold surface for a moment to find composure. _Let's face it, you suck at talking rubbish._ Talking rubbish was also probably the only thing he knew he wasn't good at and still had no intention to improve. Chuckling quietly he put a silencing charm on the staircase and started walking down heading for the hall. He had a questioning to plot.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Some dirty language and a very dirty mind at the end

_So, to Lily's son I'm a nervous wreck now. Couldn't make a better first impression,_ Severus thought bitterly as he paced from the door to the small rickety table and back again, which made a rather short distance and his head was starting to spin from all the turning. He stopped in his steps and fiddling with his hands behind his back he glared out of the tiny window into the morning sun. _Why do you care? You are not supposed to care,_ reminded a small voice from the back of his mind. _Of course I care, he's her son,_ he retorted firmly giving the annoying thing a well-aimed mental kick and sighed in satisfaction when it didn't speak up again.

He was painfully aware of his currently unreliable state of mind. Although he tried to think rationally, there seemed to be always something in the way - unanswered questions, his wounded pride... _Your wounded pride? Is the last thing that matters right now, imbecile!_ The boy was in danger. Lucius might have already known who Harry was and had been probably playing Severus into... into what exactly? He started pacing again. That didn't make sense at all. Lucius would never yield up the chance to capture the Boy-Who-Lived, let alone to Severus - since the blond couldn't be sure what he would do when presented with the opportunity. And for that matter, Severus didn't know either.

He sighed and sat on the bed beside him. To be honest, he did know what he wanted to do, but was so overwhelmed by the complexity of all the consequences that action would have, he chose not to bring himself to admit it was the only option he really had should his conscience be taken into account.

He couldn't stop pondering the absurd fact that Harry had sought help from Lucius. Seriously, the boy was playing a dangerous game and there was no way to tell if Harry himself was aware of it or if he was naïve enough to believe he had the upper hand over the cunning politician. The kid would need someone to watch his back if not someone to save him. Should he watch his back? Of course he should, it was Lily's son he was talking about.

He ran his long slender fingers through his hair - in an alarmingly Potter-like gesture, it occurred to him - and had to sneer at himself for it. There was another matter bothering him. What should he do with the information that Harry Potter was trying to find his way into the wizarding world? _That's the right question._ The irritating voice was back and Severus couldn't find the energy to get rid of it this time. _Will you tell Dumbledore?_ _Will you use it as a ticket back to the Dark Lord's favour?_ the thing whispered sweetly. He knew it was leaving the most important detail out of its reasoning but after all the years of apathy it was so tiring to care.

He heard soft footsteps from the corridor and sat a little straighter on the bed. When the door opened and Severus' eyes met the calm painfully familiar verdant green orbs, he knew there was no way back. No way back to either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. This boy, the son of the woman he loved, was the only person in the world his loyalty was bound to. Not by magic or guilty conscience, but by love.

Even though he didn't know a thing about the boy, he cared. As tiring as it may be, he cared with all his heart and finally was able to fully admit it and accept all the consequences however threatening they might be. He would protect Harry Potter with his own life if necessary. He felt the annoying voice in the back his head surrender and vanish deep into the shadows of his subconscious where it could no longer be heard.

For Severus there was only one question left unanswered. What should he do now? Should he tell the boy everything or merely carry out his initial task, walk out of Harry's life and keep an eye on him from afar?

Severus watched the boy walk gracefully across the room, sit on the plain wooden chair and observe him with a serene expression as if waiting for something. As they sat in silence Severus couldn't but notice that the boy was very good-looking to say the least. A rather disturbing thought crossed his mind at the realization. He was aware of Lucius' soft spot for beauty and recalling the sentence the blond had gotten from Harry in return for his help - "I owe you" - he had to contain a snort of disgust over what that might have meant. He looked up at the boy somewhat desperately and that was when Harry spoke.

"No, I am not supposed to have sex with Lucius if that's what you are thinking," amusement shone in the green eyes and made them look breath-taking - like Lily's had been whenever she'd been laughing. He'd have to stop being sentimental sometime very soon.

"If you take his character into consideration, I'd say we made a fairly decent deal," Harry smirked as if enjoying a private joke Severus wasn't so sure he wanted to be initiated into.

Maybe he hadn't hidden his scrutiny of the boy and the subsequent disgust all that well, though he still wouldn't expect a child to guess correctly what had disgusted him. The concept of offering one's body as a repayment shouldn't really be anywhere near the range of understanding of any thirteen-year-old. However, before he could comment on the matter, the boy inquired seriously with an unreadable expression:

"Who exactly am I to you?"

It took Severus all his self-control not to glare. From all the questions Harry could ask - and it would be most logical if he asked about the wizarding world and magic, as any curious child new to those things would - he'd chosen one that left Severus with no choice but to reveal his position. He could lie of course but in this case that would be the most stupid thing there was to do. Harry deserved the truth, however painful it may be for Severus to give. Well, at least, he had his last question resolved.

"Every time you look at me it seems as if you've seen a ghost, though a ghost of someone very dear to you," the boy explained in a gentle and simultaneously urgent tone that Severus could almost feel resonating in his heart and in his current excitable state of mind it was all he needed to forget his doubts and succumb.

"I loved your mother," he admitted honestly. A heavy weight he hadn't known had been there was lifted from his chest. When he thought about it, he couldn't recall the last time he'd spoken in true honesty. It felt liberating. "You have her eyes," he said glancing up at Harry, whose expression was still dispassionate, but his observant gaze seemingly softened.

"She was an amazing woman - so kind, quick-witted, sympathetic, strong and... She was also a very talented witch. I got to know her even before we went to Hogwarts - she had been the sweetest little girl you could imagine - and we'd been very close ever since," he paused and frowned. "Yes, we'd had something wonderful with Lily until my stupidity ruined our friendship," he couldn't go on when he remembered that day, the hopelessness he'd felt and all the misery that had followed.

Suddenly there was the soothing energy again enveloping and bringing much needed relief to his strained nerves. It was coming from the boy, Severus realized, who had his head inclined to one side and was studying him with fresh curiosity.

"Can I see?" he asked simply with perceptible interest in his voice.

It took Severus a moment to infer that Harry wanted him to show him the memory. Why in the world would he want to see that? As much as Severus felt obliged to the boy, he was also quite fond of his dignity and knew that showing anyone that particular memory would damage it irretrievably.

"No, please don't ask that of me," he requested.

"I mean my mother. Can I see my mother?" the boy inquired with a reassuring smile seeing the misunderstanding.

"I would love to show you, but I don't have the Pensieve and I assume you don't have one either," he looked questioningly at Harry and considering his obvious confusion and the surely intentional and controlled wave of magic he'd felt just a minute ago, he asked:"Do you know how to enter a man's mind?"

The boy watched Severus with a unreadable expression for a moment and then replied:

"If a man lets his shields down." It sounded confident, almost mocking, as if he were a master Legilimens. A thirteen-year-old boy? Ridiculous! _Oh, joy. I should have guessed... Potter's arrogance is bound to hunt me till my dying day._ Well, there was only one way to find out whether Harry's words were merely empty boasting, wasn't there?

Severus had never allowed anyone into his mind. Ever since he'd learnt Occlumency, he'd guarded his thoughts, feelings and memories rather fiercely. It was all one had in the end. But this was a child yearning to see its mother, what harm could be done? How could he say no after what he'd brought upon this boy's family?

He prodded experimentally at the teen's mind and finding only a flawless impenetrable barrier, he sighed and decided to let the kid give it a try. Nodding resignedly Severus lowered the protections around his mind and waited.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Harry had been weighing how he would play this. He had made plans for various situations and possibilities. However, as imaginative as he was, he had to admit none of them involved this man being in love with his dead mother. If he believed that it had been some God's will causing that to happen, he could kiss him right now. This was making things so much easier! He was a precious little boy to the man, a priceless living reminder of his long-lost love.

Yes, Harry was very much aware of the other man's vulnerability and knowing it wouldn't last forever - since he felt no desire to play a naïve child - he was determined to make full use of it while he could, guilty conscience be damned. Conscience wouldn't be an issue in the first place if Harry didn't have an inkling that this wizard despite his present somewhat agitated state could be respected. There hadn't been many respectable people in his life up to now and Harry kind of liked the idea of getting a second opinion on some of his decisions in the future.

But wasn't it much more effective to make a trip into the man's mind than to interrogate him? Furthermore, when he was now given such a convenient excuse? While he wished to see his mother, it obviously hadn't been his initial reason for asking to see her. In regards of more pressing matters he needed to be sure about this man's feelings towards her and most importantly towards his person as her son. Was he truly getting a reliable ally for free?

He could feel the strong unwavering walls shielding the man's mind and while certain he would have been able to get past them without making a serious effort, he had known he couldn't do it without the wizard noticing - and that would have done no good to Harry's plan of getting the man on his side. Manipulating Lucius' mind when the blond had been piss drunk had been another thing entirely. This man even if distracted would have taken notice of someone prying into his head, Harry had been sure of that. His mother must have been a thoughtful woman to have provided Harry with such a wonderful advantage over the man. _Thanks mum,_ he chuckled internally.

He locked his gaze with the permanently narrowed black eyes and let his consciousness brush gently against the surface haze of thoughts. Slowly diving deeper he almost gasped. What a mind! When he'd said the wizard had been respectable, he hadn't imagined anything remotely close to this. The man was a bloody genius! Harry had never seen anything like it despite having his fair share of practice with muggles. He was used to browsing through blurred and mostly overwhelmingly chaotic minds - Miss Bracket's, though far from perfect, being his brightest experience. But in here it was all so clear, sharp and defined, every thought, every idea. It was unbelievable!

The man had an excellent memory filled with something akin to very complex recipes containing unfamiliar and rather bizarre images and terms instead of cooking ingredients. Harry remembered Lucius saying something about potions. Could this man be a potions-maker? Maybe an inventor even. One way or the other, he had been right in his assumptions, a brilliant scientist indeed.

Before he could explore any more, an image of an adorable, stubborn-looking, red-haired girl with eyes the exact same shape and colour as his own emerged in front of his eyes accompanied by overwhelming feelings of love and longing and passion and regret and loss so strong it was hard for Harry to take in. Passionate, as Harry had estimated earlier, was an understatement when describing this man. For a moment he was stunned. This wizard represented what might have been Harry's one and only opportunity to learn something about his parents.

Harry drank in every image, every sensation and feeling the wizard's mind presented him with. There were flashes of places and people unknown to him which could possibly be important but as it was he couldn't take his eyes off his mother. Lily, he assumed from the fragments of conversations. When Lily appeared to be about fifteen the flow of images stopped abruptly and went on from what was, if he'd counted correctly, her sixth year of school. However, there were no more conversations with Severus, only glances of her in the corridors, in class, near the lake. As Lily grew older, the memories were accompanied by creeping bitterness. The last image Harry caught sight of was one of Lily clutching what seemed like a bundle of clothes to her chest walking down a very narrow and very empty street alongside a tall bespectacled man with messy black hair. Both Lily and the man, whom Harry believed to be his father, looked uneasy and were scrutinizing their surroundings cautiously. Severus' subconscious all but screamed despair and self-loathing.

When there were no more images of Lily Severus was willing to show him, Harry discreetly went through the man's most recent memories and was pleasantly surprised by what he found. Not only did the man view him as an innocent child - which Harry had been counting on - his emotions also promised protection and loyalty. There wasn't even the slightest hint of any kind of suspicion or animosity anywhere, though he came to sense strong guilt kept deep under the surface. But above all, there was unconditional acceptance. Something Harry had always wished for and never had been given.

More than satisfied with the outcome, Harry left Severus' mind without hesitation not wanting the man to realize that he was doing some searching of his own.

"Thank you, Severus" he said appreciatively looking directly into the perpetually distrustful black eyes feeling as if he was truly seeing the man for the first time.

To Harry's amusement the wizard actually snarled at the use of his first name.

"Do you mind answering a few more questions not related to the matter we are supposed to be dealing with today?" Harry asked, his tone speaking pure business.

"Not in the slightest," Severus replied curtly sounding more biting than willing and Harry decided he liked the man's no-nonsense attitude. It gave away he was neither the self-important working-my-arse-off kind of genius nor the pompous bring-it-on-I-can-do-anything type - not that Harry had met many brilliant people. He seemed sharp and bitter and all in all serious but Harry suspected he didn't lack sense of humour, that once Severus let him in - which would probably take a while - the man would be fun. Sarcastic fun but fun nonetheless.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Leaning back in the luxurious black leather armchair he unfolded the morning paper. The picture of Sirius Black was once again plastered across the first page. _The bloodtraitor couldn't have better timing,_ he thought bitterly. Just when he needed it the least a supposed Death Eater chose to break out of Azkaban and after almost twelve years of blissful indifference the public eye was focused on the universally dreaded Dark Lord. The three muggles he had tortured before breakfast suddenly didn't seem enough.

Having taken a sip of coffee from the silver cup he made a face and added two sugars to the one that had been there already. No, there was no chance of him ever kicking that habit.

He'd pondered the best course of action for a while now and had been very discontented with the inevitable conclusion. The only reasonable solution - if he wanted to stay undetected a little longer that is - was not to make the brother of the traitorous son of a bitch suffer as he so wished to do but actually help him to prove his innocence and return safely to Dumbledore's service. How infuriating was that? And to top it all, to achieve it he'd have to find the damned rat of a man Pettigrew, who seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Well, he'd never expected life to be easy on Dark Lords.

"Dobby," he called out.

With a pop the scrawny creature appeared before him its large translucent ears flapping near the floor in a deep bow. It knew better than to make a sound and stayed bent forward deferentially fisting the filthy rag it wore with its bony fingers waiting for his orders.

"Get Lucius," he muttered.

The elf brushed its ears against the floor again before popping out of the room.

He supposed he'd waited long enough for his sly politician to explain himself of his own free will. At the moment he happened to fancy entertainment and interrogating Lucius had the potential to provide him some.

Hurried footsteps resonated throughout the spacious corridor leading to his quarters. The dipterous carved wooden door flew open in response to a flick of his wand even before Lucius could reach them. If the man was surprised at having been summoned out of their usual meeting hours he didn't show it. The blond walked serenely across the tiled chessboard-like floor and knelt halfway to the armchair he was sitting in. Voldemort let the door fall shut behind him with a loud thud enjoying Lucius' flinch.

He sipped at his coffee now quite satisfied with the taste and watched the kneeling man who was getting increasingly nervous every passing second. Finally taking pity on the blond he put the silver cup on its saucer with a soft clink and spoke:

"Do you know why you are here?"

"No, my Lord," said Lucius keeping his eyes glued to the floor.

"I think you do, Lucius. I think you know very well," he drawled quietly in a mere whisper and relished Lucius' obvious shiver.

He stood up and walked up to the blond. It was still there as evident as it had been - the tinge of alluringly powerful magic wound around Lucius'. He would never admit it out loud but it had been driving him crazy these past few days. If he didn't know better he would say it was a Vow Lucius had made, but that wasn't possible. There were definite boundaries to wizards' perception of the magic of others' and sensing any kind of foreign intervention to one's magic was firmly beyond them. If that didn't hold true, he could as well go screw himself with the Marks he had given his Death Eaters - they would be all detected and locked in Azkaban in days if not hours.

The tantalizing energy was an enigma, a puzzle, he was determined to solve. Well, he had his clues and tactics thought through. He contained a chuckle.

"Don't you want to add something to your report from Monday evening?" he asked in a dangerously low, silky voice.

"My Lord?" the blond directed at the floor with a slightly desperate edge to his tone.

"Oh, you think you can fool me, Lucius? I can tell when you do it with your wife just as securely as I can recognise when you have a fling with someone else," he stated highly amused at the horrified expression that crossed Lucius' still down-turned face. It was a lie and simultaneously a rather wild guess but he knew his men. Lucius wasn't one to deny himself what he wanted and given the intoxicating nature of the mysterious magic it would take some strong will not to give in to the attraction when placed in the same room with its source.

He cut the distance separating them with three long strides. Lucius could be so much fun when one pushed the right buttons.

"Tell me, Lucius" he almost purred, reaching out and caressing the man's pale, flawless cheek.

"Tell me," he ordered gripping the long blond hair and tugging at it harshly. Finally the man glanced up at Voldemort, a look of guilty excitement and utter desperation in his eyes.

"Believe me, I couldn't care less about your personal life. Yet, I consider this information quite important," he informed with a smirk, let go of Lucius' hair and turned his back to the man giving him a few seconds of privacy to pull himself together. Taking his time to sit back comfortably in the black leather armchair he took a couple of sips of his coffee. "Whom did you meet?" he inquired turning his attention back to the blond who now had an air of rather fragile composure.

Lucius seemed to be in mental turmoil for a moment and then self-preservation obviously won over his pride and he resignedly looked up at his Lord.

"In the bar where I waited for the meeting, I met a teenager," Lucius' cheeks turned pink at that revelation. "His name is Harry, my Lord," the blond appeared to weigh his chances again for an instant and then explained cautiously as if waiting for punishment to come any moment: "I am profoundly sorry about this fact, my Lord, but I am unable to reveal some events of Monday evening. I will try to answer all your questions to the best of my ability, but, in all honesty, I haven't derived the pattern of what I can and can't expose yet," Lucius was now as close to red-faced as the Dark Lord had ever seen him. It was quite amusing, really.

However, the blond was ashamed of himself and in Voldemort's opinion, he should be. There was no excuse for getting outsmarted by a mere kid. Moreover, not being able to work out the brat's trick! That was just pathetic. Incompetence wasn't something he understood or tolerated.

"Crucio," he hissed and watched Lucius writhe and scream in pain on the cold chessboard-like floor relishing the feeling of complete control. At the moment his problems were solved. This sensation was all he needed.

Eventually he came down from his high and ended the curse. Lucius stayed in a heap on the tiled floor gasping for breath. Voldemort rose from his seat and walked up to the panting blond again stopping with his bare toes inches from the man's head. The blond looked perfect like this with all his precious pride, beauty and arrogance sprawled at his Lord's feet.

Voldemort squatted down next to his servant, supported the somewhat limp neck with his long, cold fingers turning the humiliated man's head to face him. He locked his gaze with the pained silver eyes and tracing the tempting rosy lips with his fingertips he watched shivers of desperate and involuntary need running through Lucius' strained body.

"The memory, Lucius," he requested in a hushed but firm voice managing to at least partly startle the blond out of his aroused trance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Some colourful swearing, a few naturalistic details and the very dirty mind again

The weak rays of the morning sun were doing their best to squeeze themselves through the tiny window and illuminate the tacky bedroom on the other side - and were failing miserably. Covered in sparse grey shadows the oblong room looked quite grim and the two motionless figures facing each other in obstinate silence imparted an air of strange solemnity to the picture. Although the tension between the two men was almost tangible, there was no easy way of telling what it was exactly that was going through their heads since both their expressions were perfectly dispassionate giving away no emotion.

There were many disconcerting aspects of the scene. Still, what was most unsettling was the silence. One could be all ears but there was simply nothing to be heard - no sounds of London from outside, no sounds of commotion inside the building, not even a ticking of a clock. Nothing.

Harry was currently in what was proving to be a rather lengthy process of testing Severus' patience. Having known the man had been waiting for him to speak Harry had chosen to remain silent and make use of the gained time by weighing his options again. However, it was starting to get boring and he came to the conclusion that Severus had either nerves of steel - at least as far as Lilly Potter wasn't taken into account - or had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

"Would you tell me about my parents?" Harry asked finally breaking the silence which had been coming in almost audible waves by then. This was not part of his scheduled interview and he would have to get back to it eventually, yet he simply couldn't pass up the opportunity to finally hear something potentially truthful about the people that had given life to him.

"I seriously doubt I am the best man to do that," Severus uttered obviously irritated and Harry was certain it had nothing to do with his patience-testing. When he quirked an eyebrow at the man, Severus added: "I don't think I would be able to present you with an objective overview," he sneered more to himself than at Harry.

He narrowed his eyes at Severus and for a moment pondered commenting on the fact that the man clearly had a problem with his father since he'd seemed to enjoy talking about Lily. In the end Harry decided against voicing his suspicion. No benefit could possibly come of him making Severus furious this early in their relationship in the making - although he was sure that the wizard's display of temperament would be fairly entertaining.

"If you don't do it, then who will?" he inquired matter-of-factly not batting an eyelid at the look disturbingly close to a death glare Severus was currently giving him.

Harry would be probably much more alarmed at the open show of animosity if he believed it was directed at his person. However, he had come to notice it was sometimes hard to tell whom Severus' emotions were aimed at and by whom or what they had been triggered - the fact that there were only the two of them in the room didn't reduce the number of people preserved by that brilliant memory of his that Severus was carrying in his head. The man was so complex Harry had taken it as a challenge to understand him. He had met enough simple people, Severus was sure to be a refreshing stimulation.

"I take it you intend to enrol at Hogwarts," Severus estimated forcing a friendlier expression on his face which happened to be just as disturbing as the previous hostile one. Having seen Harry's nod, he elaborated: "Then you are bound to meet many people who will be more than happy to share the information - with you especially. However, I wouldn't count on their impartiality either," Severus informed bitingly.

Many people? That sounded as if his parents were widely remembered. Not like him, forgotten and abandoned on the verge of reach of the world he belonged to, but loved and cared for even beyond death. Should it hurt? It didn't.

He supposed he knew why he had been dumped at this hellhole - he had given it some thought during the long years spent here at Winter's and had focused on the matter even more these past few days - and despite the somewhat dismal moments he had gone through in the muggle world he had come to understand and accept the reasons behind the decision to leave him here.

In consequence of that conclusion he now realized he was trying to enter a world where someone knew his most closely guarded secret. With that in mind, he was grateful for the entrance ticket to come at this point when he was fully prepared for facing whatever difficulty may arise and not earlier. He was certain he was ready to deal with every obstacle on his way to achieve his goals - which were presently somewhat vague and incomplete considering he didn't know much about the current situation in the Wizarding World but the draft would have to do until he had the time to work on it some more.

Nevertheless, at the moment the main questions were: Who was the wizard holding the means to destroy his reputation by sharing one single memory with the Ministry or the press? Had he shared it already? What position did the man have in the Wizarding World? How much did Severus know about the matter?

"I've waited for years. I guess I can wait one more month," he said and watched a flash of guilt cross Severus' features, though it was skilfully concealed in an instant.

Severus now thought he'd never heard a word about his parents. That wasn't entirely true. To set the record straight, he'd never heard a _truthful_ word about his parents. At least not from a reliable source. He hadn't believed Vernon's stories about drunkards and drug addicts and riff-raff and car crashes out of the desperate childish need for something to be proud of - however false it might have been. Now he was given hope it possibly hadn't been false at all. And had to wait a month for it to be proven right or wrong. He had no problem with waiting. _Yeah, tell yourself that._

"Do you know anything about my childhood or about the way my parents died?" he inquired combining one question seemingly illogical for him to ask concerning his most recent worries with one that had been expectable from the beginning. If Severus had even the slightest hunch on his secret, he would spill.

From the way Severus paled - which was quite an admirable thing for him to manage considering that under regular conditions his complexion was nearly white - Harry inferred the man either knew his secret and was afraid to break it to him or had something to do with his parents' death. After a few unreadable ones an expression of deep self-loathing settled on Severus' face and with great relief Harry made a mental note to anticipate the later. Crossing his legs he leaned back in the hard wooden chair and let the man stew in his own juice for as long as he may desire.

"Your parents were killed by a dark wizard," Severus said after a while looking at Harry expectantly as if hoping he would make do with that piece of information. Harry, however, had no such intention and having raised an eyebrow he waited patiently for the other man to reconcile himself to the fact.

After a minute or two - he had forbearance down to a fine art, Harry had to admit - Severus sighed resignedly, folded his hands in his lap and as if in trance - most probably steeled against the worst of reactions he anticipated from Harry - he began talking.

"When you were born a war was raging in the wizarding world - the Light led by Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix on one side and the Dark Lord with his Death Eaters on the other. Your parents were among the leading members of the Order of the Phoenix-"

"Which side were you on?" interrupted Harry knowing the answer already but wanting Severus to look him in the eye and say it - for the sake of the man's peace of mind.

He was coming to understand where all the guilt connected to him in Severus' mind had been coming from. The man was subconsciously begging for his forgiveness and however despicable his actions might have been, Harry thought Severus had suffered enough. Such amount of remorse couldn't be remedial anymore, it had to be agonizing and highly damaging to the intellect - and Harry couldn't have that now, could he? He had to wonder if this Dark Lord had seen his follower's inner turmoil for all these years.

Then it hit him and he felt as if he had known all along. This was the mysterious master to whom both Lucius and Severus answered. The Dark Lord, Severus had called him - the arch enemy of his parents and most likely also their murderer.

He should be disgusted by the fact that he had been drawn to the wizard so strongly and had flirted with the idea of seeking the man out with the petty intention to simply get to know him - and play with an undoubtedly skilful player. However, in Harry's opinion it was too soon for disgust. _Who am I to judge?_ He hadn't even heard the whole story yet. There was no need for making hasty conclusions. Not to mention there was no denying that to Harry merely thinking about the powerful wizard as a Dark Lord was somewhat...exciting.

Bringing his attention back to the black-haired man sitting stiffly opposite him, to his amusement Harry noted Severus was now most likely as close to making puppy dog eyes as he would ever see the man and had the situation been a tad less grave he would have laughed at the image. As it was he tried to appear as encouraging as he could without seeming patronizing and waited for the man's answer.

"I was a Death Eater," Severus confessed visibly bracing himself before going on. "And I am also partly responsible for the misfortune that befell your family. A prophecy had been spoken about you and the Dark Lord saying that you were the one with the power to destroy him. I happened to overhear a part of it and not knowing whose child it spoke of I went directly to the Dark Lord with the information.

"On the night of October 30 in 1981 the Dark Lord came to your parents' house with the intention to murder you. He killed both your father and your mother but for some reason didn't manage to kill you. His own curse having left you with a mere scar on your forehead made him disappear without a trace for years. Many still believe he's dead," Severus finished, his voice flat and perfectly emotionless though his eyes were telling. The shiny black irises showed all the loss, regret and guilt this man had kept buried in the pit of his heart for years so that no one could see. It was quite touching, Harry thought.

Suddenly all the pieces, one by one, started falling into place. Holding his breath Harry watched the jigsaw puzzle assembling itself in his mind. And he saw it all. Only then did he fully understand why he had been left at Winter's Orphanage. Of course there were blind spots here and there but he had the general idea.

Then it occurred to Harry that a Dark Lord wanting to remain undetected wouldn't mark his followers in a way which pointed them out in a crowd for everyone to sense - well, considering a Dark Lord with a brain. So it had to be only him who could feel the Mark. Disturbing.

He also understood why Lucius had been so horrified when he had in his drunken delirium blabbed out about his master. The Dark Lord had obviously returned to his position of power after twelve years of absence and was trying to renew his forces without attracting worldwide attention to his restored activity. And Lucius had disclosed the information to a complete stranger. No wonder the blond had been afraid of his Lord finding out about the incident.

Lucius would be in even more trouble taking who Harry was into consideration. Judging by Severus' snide remark about impartiality, in the minds of most Light wizards he had rid the world of great evil and had won their war for them. Harry Potter was a hero, an icon, the saviour of the Wizarding World. _I can't seem to find the golden mean. I either end up between the scum at the bottom of the society or as a bloody celebrity cherished in the hearts of all - and never by my own efforts._ He found it partly hilariously ironic and partly infuriating. Yet from a detached point of view, it was also highly advantageous.

And he was very lucky to have been caught unaware by a man of Severus' calibre - who had proven quite oblivious of his opportunity and had told Harry everything instead of abusing the power he'd had over him - and not by someone like Lucius. Harry barely contained the shiver following that particular thought.

Then there was the prophecy. In any case it was important if not crucial to Harry's planning. It could be a threat as well as a shortcut to his goals. Harry wasn't exactly well-informed about the matter at the moment - that would have to be remedied as soon as possible - but what it told of the Dark Lord was quite clear. Considering he had known only a part of the prophecy, there could have been fundamental miscalculations in the Dark Lord's reasoning, which had probably resulted in Harry's survival - and his present disappointment in regard to the rash and ill-advised decision the Dark Lord had made. _What did you think? Men tend to err from time to time._ Had he truly managed to idealize the Dark Lord - the man who had tried to kill him? Just great.

He'd almost shook his head to clear it but had caught himself in time. Now, he wanted to meet the man more than ever. To learn his motives, his opinions and primarily his objective. There had to be a good one since he had prudent men like Severus and Lucius following it. An objective so important that the life of an innocent baby was insignificant in comparison. Even if he wanted, Harry couldn't let himself judge the picture of the Wizarding World now painted in his mind hastily or according to the view of a man seeking retribution for his parents' death - that would be ridiculous and in his position positively deadly.

In light of the many revelations, Severus' involvement in the death of his parents stung only a little if at all. In the end, to an unbiased observer it spoke of the man's unconditional devotion to both his love and his conviction. As fulfilling as it had been to finally discover the reasons behind the course his life had taken, Harry was aware his main task at the moment was to convince Severus of the truth - that he didn't hate him for what he'd done - or he might soon be stuck with another nervous breakdown.

"Obviously, it was a tragic accident that you had brought to light the information which in the end resulted in my mother's death. I believe there were no malicious intentions involved on your side. What you did was reasonable in your position and possibly beneficial to your cause. Should the contemporary generation of Germans hold grudge against Alan Turing for having constructed a device to decipher the Nazi codes and therefore indirectly having caused the deaths of many of their ancestors? Of course they shouldn't and it is my firm belief that they don't. And I'm not talking in the good-side-bad-side mode, mind you. When a man does his best to serve his conviction it isn't despicable - it is admirable. You can justifiably hate the cause but the people following it rarely deserve hatred. Once presented with the whole complexity of their motives, you'd find there is nothing left to hate," Harry explained serenely.

He knew he was being "unnervingly rational" as Mike had once aptly put it - and it was exactly the approach he needed when dealing with a self-accusing Severus. His little speech was meant to lull the guilt to sleep, invoke confusion and then with a few controversial statements point the blaming self-analysis in a different direction - somewhere near the Dark Lord and his cause if Harry's assumptions about the wizard were correct. And it all had to be done through sense and reason since that was the only possible way to persuade Severus of...well...anything.

Covertly amused Harry watched different emotions chase themselves in and out of Severus' face as his words hit home - though the nuances were barely recognizable. He could make out hope, doubt, confusion, more confusion, disbelief, an incredulous look aimed at Harry, caution, hope, mild interest, and when his features settled on "thoughtful", Severus spoke:

"Do you want to discuss the main concepts that gave rise and formed the Dark Lord's movement?" he asked drily, awe leaking through his stony mask.

Having quickly overcome his surprise Harry sent Severus a appreciative smirk. Besides following the train of thought Harry had set up for him the wizard had managed to see through his manipulations. Having seen the man's brilliant mind, it really shouldn't have astonished him that much.

Yes, I'd like that," he said with a nod not taking his eyes off Severus.

As unforeseen as it was, Harry was now closer to making a potentially equal friend than he had ever been in his life.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

On a thorny twig hidden deep inside a bush of bourbon roses there was a nightingale. It sang as if its life depended on the perfection of the tones formed in its fragile throat. Perhaps it sang for the flawless pinkish blossoms around. Or maybe it sang for the motionless man leaning against the wrought balcony railing high above the cold ground apparently lost in thought. The hem of his black robes was flapping near his pale bare feet in the light morning breeze blowing from the seemingly infinite blooming garden and bringing the delicate rich scent of roses along with the captivating song of the nightingale to the man's senses.

However, all the beauty was lost on the man. He was not one to appreciate such things – and his mind was otherwise occupied at the moment anyway. His imagination had chosen to provide him with an endless supply of different fantasies concerning the exact same person each and every time. Hundred times he had ravished the boy. Hundred times he had tasted those delicious full lips, had his hands all over that sinful body and then proceeded to fuck it into the nearest flat surface available. Hundred times – and it still wasn't enough. Whenever he had been faced with the image of the steady green gaze and had found the unwavering confidence and boldness in it, he'd felt a strong wave of excitement run through him at the challenge and the vicious circle had begun again.

For a long time he couldn't stop thinking about those eyes sure that he should know to whom they'd belonged. And then it had hit him. He had seen those eyes twice in his life. First he'd watched with satisfaction the light dying in them and in the following second, he'd met them again – just as stubborn and determined as those that had been making his cock twitch for the better part of the past hour – in a baby's face. And the image ensuing from that connection was too sick even for his taste. However, worse than the sickest of images had been the fact that he, Lord Voldemort, had been taken with none other than Harry Potter whom on top of that he had repeatedly fucked senseless in his mind's eye.

With that realization he had left for his bedroom – or rather for its balcony. Usually he never used it but in that moment he had been in desperate need of fresh air. He was in serious trouble – and couldn't afford it.

Nevertheless, right now the one in trouble was most definitely Lucius Malfoy. The idiot had been blithely conversing with the Boy-Who-Lived for hours and hadn't done a thing to bring him to his Lord. Moreover, he had let himself be lulled into false sense of security by the boy's magic – while being aware of it from the very beginning – and had been eating out of his hand ever since. And to top it all he had allowed Potter to make him unable to tell the tale. He _needed_ information. He couldn't very well approach the boy at the orphanage, it would be too risky at this point when he wanted to stay undetected. The blond moron was a dead man.

Strong chilling wind swept through the rose bushes and made the sweet pink blossoms near the balcony freeze so that with the first touch of the gentle morning breeze they fell apart and turned into dust.

The blank moments, that's what irritated him the most. There were some shorter ones in the bar, than a long one after the strange Apparition and a few instants in the morning conversation. In all honesty, he had to admit it was as infuriating as it was fascinating. There was no spell he knew of that would enable a wizard to erase the exact parts of a man's memory which he wanted to disappear – well if you didn't cast the Memory charm every other minute, which clearly wasn't the case. Lucius didn't know what he could and couldn't _reveal_ – which meant the missing moments hadn't been erased, only hidden from prying eyes and to Lucius the memories were still fully visible. What an exasperating and admirable piece of magic.

After a thorough examination of the blank spots of the memory he had discovered there were two kinds of them. Well, the long whole-night one and the others. The long one was clearly covered by a spell which was anchored to a certain place – a room specifically. Obviously Potter had Apparated them to said room and that had been when the spell had activated. From later conversation, this room could be Potter's office. The theory was also fuelled by the beginning of the morning memory. It was impossible for Lucius – however drunk he might have been – to have fallen asleep during Apparation and wake up in mid-step on his way down a staircase.

Taking all the facts into account, his next action should be to search for the building where it had all taken place, find the room and dislodge the spell. Except nothing in Lucius' memory gave any indication to where it might be – which was probably the consequence of some of the shorter blank spots. They were not all-consuming like the long one. In most cases they covered only parts of the scene leaving the conversation between Potter and Lucius without intervention, though there were also a few suspicious unintelligible words – presumably names.

Those shorter missing moments were all apparently also anchored to an object. Now that he had something to compare them with, he could feel it. Considering Potter's strange farewell present causing a surge of magic to encompass Lucius, he would guess the anchor was the book. He would have to examine it later.

_"The room upstairs isn't a flat, it's my office and it is in every way possible a work of magic."_

It was this statement that at first wouldn't stop nagging at him and then gave sense to a lot of things – while not resolving any.

It would be pointless to search for a room, because there was no room to be found. The little bastard had keyed it to his magical core. That way the boy could carry the room around in his head and make it materialize anywhere he wanted when having enough space and privacy. And apparently he could make it materialize for other people as well. It was a functional fantasy place that could become real by thought. What had the boy called it? His Office. If what he had assumed was true, it was…incredible.

From the conversations he had witnessed, Voldemort had inferred that the boy was not only witty but also highly intelligent – that was what turned him on so much aside from the unyielding confidence and the sauciness and the wicked sense of humour and the never-ending playfulness and thousands of other things. However, this little trick called for the word brilliant.

He ran all the facts, every last detail of the memory through his head. It was flawless. There was no way for him to break the spell unless he was in a room only Potter's magical core could call to existence. While it was hard but still practicable to take one's magical signature of an object charmed by the person in question, to imitate one's magical core was simply unfeasible. As much as he detested it, he knew defeat when he suffered one.

Another thought was persistently nagging at him. It was a part of the memory, the moment when Lucius was about to take Potter's offered hand just before the Apparation to be exact. Something that didn't fit? There was nothing "missing" in the scene – not a spot bleached or a word mispronounced. Potter and Lucius are sitting in a dark corner of an empty bar. The only other person in the room is a dark-haired lanky bartender frowning furiously at a glass he's absently wiping with a tea towel in the background – nothing fishy about a filthy muggle hating his job. What was it then?

There was nothing out of order with their surroundings so it had to be the two of them. Potter has a cheerful expression plastered to his face while Lucius seems thoughtful. As Potter prepares for Apparation a wave of his magic hits Lucius – who is suddenly surprised and high. Then his wide grey eyes travel to the half-finished glass of scotch - no, to the piece of paper lying on the table in front of Potter.

" _Don't worry"_

Why would Potter write that? To whom? There was no one in the bar apart from Lucius he had spoken to or had given a second look. He had to have an appointment and the note was meant for the person whom he would have been meeting had he not left with Lucius. Except that didn't make sense at all. The boy didn't act impulsively, he planned and if he planned, he wouldn't leave the damned note lying on the table so that anyone could take it or throw it away – he would have given it to the bartender. The bartender who was now piercing the shadows covering their corner with _worried_ eyes! Of course, all the blind spots in the bar were Potter's interactions with the barman. _The boy may be brilliant but he is not faultless._

This was it! He had to contact the bartender of – what was the name of the place - Shaw's Café Bar? He had all the information he needed. This was his way to approach the boy!

And then what?

Suddenly a dark shadow settled over the blooming garden.

The prophecy.

The shadow was torn to little pieces which then spread across the bushes and flowerbeds covering every single blossom, crushing it mercilessly and ridding it of its colour. In a second the whole garden was drowning in monotonous greyness.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies …_

The nightingale gave one last gurgling trill before choking on its own blood and falling onto a bed of rose leaves with its fragile throat broken – warm blood staining the delicate pinkish beauty underneath.

Potter had the power to destroy him. It was as if the boy was dead already. All that genius for naught. Pity. Well, in light of recent events he was thoroughly fucked first and dead second. Maybe a short conversation wouldn't hurt either, just to explore exactly how far that brilliant mind could go…

The hem of black robes fluttered in the doorway and disappeared leaving a woefully colourless and deadly silent garden behind.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Severus tried to conceal the waves of bewilderment, admiration and relief which in turns coursed through him as he watched the _boy_. Now, that he thought about it, there had been hints but he hadn't paid much attention to them at the time. Being too occupied with his raging emotions, he had failed to notice that this _boy_ didn't behave like a boy at all - and after the years of teaching experience Severus was bound to recognize the symptoms at a glance. Harry was undoubtedly playful but that was where his boyish nature ended - and the rational, insightful and calculating mind of an adult began.

And for that matter, how had it happened that a thirteen-year-old boy knew more about history than an adult. Severus was not exactly an expert in the field - since he was a wizard - but he sure had at least average knowledge of muggle history. Well, the lad certainly hadn't loafed around.

As he replayed Harry's last speech in his head for what might as well be the fourth time, Severus came to realize that the closer he studied it, the more artful it was proving to be. He knew he wasn't exactly an easily predictable person, yet Harry had read him like an open book. Of course, allowing him entrance into his mind - which now seemed very imprudent to Severus - might have helped the boy slightly. Hadn't he met the Dark Lord he would have been caught off guard by such subtle manipulation. As it was he was merely forced to consider Harry well on his way to becoming a mastermind - and it did scare him a little, he had to admit.

However, taking the boy's intention into account, the whole manipulative act was rather endearing - Severus couldn't recall the last time he had used that word. Harry had wanted to assure him that he hadn't blamed him - which probably meant that Harry truly didn't blame him! - and also take his mind off the whole precarious matter. See? Endearing. And he was getting far too excited about it for his taste.

Now, that Severus had caught up with Harry in reading his character - at least to some extent - he was sure their interactions would go quite smoothly. He could even see himself enjoying the boy's company. _Potter's son, who would have thought..._

However, considering his current situation, he didn't have a very pleasant job ahead of him. He'd never expected he would need to explain this particular matter to anyone - moreover to the Boy-Who-Lived. But it was necessary that Harry knew. Having cleared his throat and with the first words ready to be pronounced, his preparations were interrupted by Harry's melodious voice.

"I almost forgot to ask you. Which side are you on now?" the brat inquired innocently probably knowing exactly how difficult it would be for Severus to answer the question - he would have rather explained the Dark Lord's cause, really. Still, it was a very logical and sensible question for Harry to ask.

"At the moment it is very hard to choose a side. Dumbledore has his flaws, so do the ideals of the Light and as far as I know, the Order of the Phoenix isn't active. Regarding the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, I can only speculate since I haven't been called into service yet but it is my belief that the Dark Lord has returned. As you can see there is nothing for me to join or take part in right now," Severus finished mentally congratulating himself on having managed to postpone the final decision.

Apparently highly amused Harry asked:

"And when the war bursts out again? Which side are you going to take then?"

_You have postponed the decision for five seconds. You can congratulate yourself now, idiot._

"Maybe there won't be a se-" Severus continued in his evasive manoeuvres.

"You haven't made the decision yet, have you?" the boy said simply and Severus couldn't but glare at him.

The infuriating imp only chuckled and went on.

"When none of the existing ones are satisfactory, why not make a third party or at least plant a strong influence in one of the two and change it to your liking?" the lad inquired matter-of-factly with a calculating glint in his eyes.

"There is no one powerful enough to form a third party or to change anything when joined with either of the two already on the scene - at the moment," replied Severus understanding perfectly what the boy was implying - having forgotten all about his anger somewhere in the process. He didn't really know what to make of it though. Should he be more afraid for Harry or of the chaos his colossal influence could cause in the Wizarding World when shifted ineptly?

Harry watched him with an unreadable expression for a while. Then a knowing smile crossed his face as he spoke.

"Don't worry, Severus. I think I understand my position in the Wizarding World quite well - the dangers as well as the advantages. But above all, I am aware of the responsibility and assure you that I don't take it lightly," the boy said and Severus knew it was one of the few times he'd ever hear him speak in true honesty and all seriousness. Why in the world did he feel honoured? _You respect Potter's son. You will have to face it eventually, you know? Or, you can as well respect Lily's son if it helps you any,_ a voice cared to enlighten him. It wasn't the one he had been hearing these past few years but it was just as annoying.

"Tell me about Dumbledore and his flaws now, would you?" the boy requested and Severus barely stopped himself from snapping at him.

It was the phrasing that made his blood boil and run cold at the same time - so close to the Dark Lord casually _requesting_ a report. However, as he met the familiar warm green gaze, Severus had to admit it was his mind and harsh memories playing tricks on him. What he had considered to be an order to report had been a plea for help and advice - coming from a boy too proud to present it as such.

"First thing you need to know about Dumbledore is that however harmless he may seem he is not to be underestimated under any circumstances. He did defeat the Dark Lord Grindelwand and did not do it with either his ramblings or lemon drops - although it wouldn't be completely out of character for him to try. However, as things stand now, the Light is pinning all their hopes on a memory of a man that has been slowly fading away before their very eyes as the years have passed and they have somehow failed to notice their hero growing old.

"Albus Dumbledore, however wise and knowledgeable, has long since been reliable to be completely rational when placed in front of an important decision. The man isn't hasty or reckless, quite the opposite. He tends to see the simplest of issues as overcomplicated ploys and make giants out of gnomes. Nevertheless, not all the people are able to view him objectively, therefore he remains a widely respected and admired moral example and currently also the unofficial leader of the wizarding world - since the present Minister isn't much of an authority. Yet, he is still a genius, mind you, only a little irrational at times," Severus concluded and waited for Harry's reaction to his summary.

The boy looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave Severus a bright smile before making another request:

"Now, if you would tell me what you remember about the Dark Lord - and his flaws if there are any," the last remark was snide as if Harry had been already aware of some grand failure of the wizard's. Severus just hoped Harry didn't believe it was a piece of cake to take the man on when he had managed it as a baby - but by thinking that he was insulting Harry's intelligence, Severus was sure.

"The Dark Lord is the most dangerous man I have ever met. He is irresistibly charming, brilliant and powerful, has very little morals, very little patience when faced with incompetence or disobedience, and very high tolerance for gore - if you know what I mean. He is insightful and perilously perceptive on one side but on the other he often turns a blind eye to obvious facts simply because they don't fit his point. However in regard to matters of no personal importance to him, he is strictly rational and unbiased.

"I didn't have the opportunity to witness the rise of his influence since it had began in the 40s when he had still been at Hogwarts. Some say his opinions have their origin in his wretched childhood - although no one knows exactly where or under what circumstances he grew up. It is believed that his profound interest in the Dark Arts was formed at the same time as his deep hatred towards muggles - very early in his life. Supposed-"

"You talk about him as if he were a character from some ancient myth. Some say... No one knows exactly... It is believed... He is a living man for God's sake!" Harry interrupted incredulously. Although not indignantly, out of pure curiosity it seemed.

Severus watched the boy with something akin to sympathy. Concerning the Dark Lord, Harry was probably in for a surprise.

"To be honest with you, I think it would be an understatement to call him a man - at least considering a man to whom the rules of nature can be applied," Severus almost shivered as he remembered the seemingly infinite reserves of raw power the Dark Lord possessed.

"Would it really?" Harry asked cocking his head to one side and suddenly resembling an inquisitive child. "Is it clear to you to what extent the rules of nature correspond with magic and where the boundaries lie - if there are any? Because it isn't clear to me," he added mock thoughtfully.

The boy was making a point - once again showing his masterful ability to play with Severus' mind - making him smirk. He wasn't one to openly show his admiration but he simply had to ask:

"Tell me, where did you learn the art of persuasion? How is it that you you know exactly what to say? It is unnerving."

The boy sniggered and then gave him a long searching look. Having found whatever it was he'd wanted to find, he smiled and said:

"Plato already knew that the best way to bring a man around is to plant questions in his head - because men tend to trust their own thoughts the most."

Before Severus could wrap his head around the statement properly, the boy was already speaking again.

"Which side do you feel loyal to?" Harry inquired changing the subject abruptly.

Severus was starting to get used to the unpredictability of the conversation. Having run the question through his mind he answered honestly:

"I don't feel loyal to either of the sides."

"Interesting," the boy murmured more to himself than to Severus. "Well, good for you. This way you can choose what will prove to be more convenient," said the boy conspiratorially but Severus could tell there was a hidden query somewhere.

"What is it?" he inquired and had to once again search in the depths of his memory for the last time he had asked the question.

"Is your mind a safe place to put something I wouldn't like the Dark Lord to find out just yet?" Harry queried in that innocent tone again but there was caution in the green gaze.

"Of course it is," Severus spat indignantly. How dare the insolent brat imply that he couldn't hold his own-

"No offence," Harry interrupted his mental ramblings obviously barely containing his amusement.

"None taken," Severus muttered grumpily - which seemed to amuse Harry even more. "Now, what is it?" he inquired again feeling his patience slowly slipping from his grasp.

"Well, isn't the Mark kind of binding?" the boy asked curiously.

Severus only stared at him for a while before composing himself enough to speak.

"How do you know about the Mark?" he whispered in disbelief.

"I can feel it," Harry whispered back mysteriously widening his eyes significantly, the left corner of his mouth twitching.

"You arrogant oaf!" Severus flared up unable to help himself. Potter had risen from the dead just to bite him in the ass.

Fuming internally he watched as the impudent whelp struggled to suppress the laughter threatening to bubble up his throat - and made a surprisingly good job of it. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath Severus tried to find his lost patience before the insufferable nuisance of a boy opened its mouth again.

"So, is it binding?" Harry inquired calmly as if he hadn't been just yelled at.

"Yes, it is," Severus retorted stubbornly keeping his answer short and giving no additional information.

"Stop pout- oh, never mind," the boy muttered and Severus forced himself not to ponder what he'd meant to say.

"To sum it up," Harry continued having cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly. "The Light is more suggestible and despite its wider base of followers it inevitably ends up weaker in comparison to the Dark which is potentially much stronger but hasn't managed to reach the turning point yet. Do I get it right?" he quarried.

Severus nodded. His introduction of the two main leaders of the opposing sides didn't imply any of those things but they were indisputably correct. When it seemed the boy had nothing more to say about the matter, Severus remarked:

"You make it sound as if the whole conflict was already resolved in the future and all we could do about it was sit and wait for the result to come."

"It most likely would be the case, if the third influence stayed out of the matter – which it won't. Although at the moment it is impossible to tell which side it will take – or create for that matter," Harry uttered and chuckled when he saw Severus' bewildered expression.

Was the boy truly saying that he was willing to join the wizard who killed his parents should the circumstances call for it? Could there be hope for him to support the side he felt he should support and stay loyal to Lily's son at the same time?

When he looked up he caught the boy watching him intently again. Still holding eye contact with those unnervingly observant green orbs he listened to Harry's question:

"Do you feel inclined to join either of the two sides? I don't ask so that I could judge you. I ask so that I know," he concluded with such gentleness in his eyes that Severus was once again painfully reminded of Lily – and that was what made him answer honestly.

"I do feel that the ideals of the Dark are closer to my own views on the wizarding world, so I would be inclined to join the Death Eaters again, should the opportunity present itself. Although that definitely doesn't mean that I agree with all the opinions the Dark holds – some of them are quite...extreme," he said and was glad to have done so. It was pleasant to know that Harry was aware he was siding with the Dark and didn't hate him for it – well, at least Severus believed so.

"I expected you to," informed the boy and Severus had to wonder where he was heading with this speech. "You don't seem like a man who would blindly follow a stubborn irrational old coot and kept his mouth shut – and it is even more absurd to imagine you trying to talk some sense into him," Harry chuckled and Severus found himself smirking - having finally realized that the boy was teasing him. When had been the last time he'd had somebody tease him?

"So, is there anyone in the wizarding world who actually knows where I have stayed all these years or am I a complete mystery?" Harry inquired in a light playful tone.

"As far as I know, only Dumbledore was privy to where you lived. I asked him many times but he wouldn't tell saying you deserved your privacy," he sneered as he remembered the careful way in which Dumbledore had treated every information concerning Harry - not that there were many.

Severus watched realization dawn on Harry's face whose expression then abruptly changed into one of utter horror. The lad jumped up from his seat and started pacing from the small rickety table to the door very much like Severus had barely an hour ago only there was much more force to Harry's steps - making Severus wonder why there wasn't a well-trodden path showing on the linoleum already.

He stopped near the door running a slightly trembling hand through the mess of his black hair, his back facing Severus and there he stood still for almost a whole minute. He then turned slowly with an unreadable expression skilfully set on his features, though Severus could tell the boy was still upset.

"You mean Dumbledore, the leader of the Light, the widely respected and admired moral example, the headmaster of Hogwarts, the man who is highly regarded by the Wizarding World for having defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald?" Harry asked in a cold voice but his eyes were boring into Severus' begging him to say - Merlin knew what.

"Yes," he replied not able to feel any resentment at Harry's stupid question – knowing that there was something deeper to it.

"Well, that changes things," murmured the boy to himself walking back to the hard wooden chair and sitting down absently apparently lost in thought.

Severus watched him think and marvelled at how ridiculous this boy made him feel. When Harry had been teasing and playful one part of Severus had felt entertained while the other had been murderous and secretly willing him to shut up. However, when he was serious and silent, Severus' previously entertained part turned worried and the murderous stayed murderous although now the grudge was aimed against whatever had made the boy lose his good humour. Funny feelings.

The boy finally seemed to reach his decision and looked up at Severus with a perfectly serene expression.

"Would you tell me the exact wording of the prophecy? Although even if you have learnt the rest of it by now, I only want to know what he knows," Harry demanded softly.

When Severus obliged the strange request, the boy smiled sardonically and noted:

"Doesn't say much, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," replied Severus his lips stretching into a bitter smile of their own.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Screams of sheer agony were echoing in the cold spacious corridors of Malfoy Manor making Dobby curl up in the far corner of a kitchen cupboard between pots and saucepans, cover his ears with the palms of his bony hands and wail desperately.

When the screams finally died down, the scrawny creature laboriously climbed out of the cupboard, the clumsy motion followed by loud clanking of the casseroles.

"Someone has to help…Master hurts and Dobby hears…someone has to help…Dobby knows…" the house-elf murmured feverishly smoothing out the wrinkles on the filthy rag covering his scraggy body with furious fervour.

The next second he heard a hissed call and popped into the largest room of Master's Master's quarters. Immediately the vile metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils. He bowed deeply squashing his upset stomach in the process and his tiny fists chose to betray him and flew to his lips in a desperate attempt to force the bile back down his throat.

He stared at the shiny black tile under his feet in horror and waited for punishment to come. There was a smear about the size of a bottom of a huge coffee cup in the right corner of the tile which made him squirm internally - since he was forbidden to move.

"Bring Avery and Yaxley from the parlour," the icy voice hissed.

Dobby hurriedly brushed the tips of his ears against the cold black tile hoping to clean at least a part of the monstrous smear and popped out.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Another unnervingly long silence stretched in the tacky bedroom and this time Severus was sharp enough to realize that there was something seriously wrong about it.

"Aren't there supposed to be children in an orphanage?" he asked suspiciously surprised that he hadn't noticed the obvious lack of noise before.

Harry sniggered quietly and replied:

"This place is full of children, if there weren't wards on these walls," he gestured wildly, "the little monkeys in the neighbouring rooms would be listening to our every word." he informed his tone varying between fond and exasperated.

"So you used Silencing charms too?" Severus inquired hopefully.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked with a genuinely confused expression and it occurred to Severus that the boy truly wouldn't know since he didn't have any wizarding education - which was by the way the topic they should have been discussing all along in the first place.

"The spells you use so that others wouldn't hear you are called Privacy wards and those you use so that you wouldn't hear others are called Silencing charms. Did you use any Silencing charms on this room?" he clarified.

"No, I didn't. Why do you ask?" the boy looked even more taken aback at that.

"I know how a house full of children sounds," he drawled out sceptically.

"Oh, that would be the early morning," Harry replied as if that explained everything. The boy was covering it well but years of experience told Severus that he was bored with the conversation.

"Early morning?" Severus snorted, drew out his wand and cast a quick Tempus. "It is almost ten for Merlin's sake!"

"Well, for Walkinglard that is early morning," the boy said in a carefully indifferent tone. "There are a few simple rules that you learn by heart if you want to live a tolerable life here. One of them says: If you wake Dunnaby, you don't eat," Harry informed matter-of-factly.

Severus' temper was well on its way to flare up at the outrageous news when all of a sudden his left forearm started to burn as if it had caught fire. It was so unexpected that he didn't quite manage to stop a pained hiss from escaping his lips.

"He's summoning you," Harry noted offhandedly but his eyes shone with excitement.

Severus only nodded and bit down on his lower lip to ensure he wouldn't make a sound as the pain would grow worse.

Finally a summons. He tried to work out what it meant to him. He hadn't been – quite understandably – summoned in the first call but this was still early and most importantly while the movement was meant to stay undetected which told him that he was trusted – to his surprise. His post-war desertion to Dumbledore - which couldn't very well be called desertion since there was nothing to desert at the time - was an open secret and he had always expected that he would have to go to hell and back to gain the return ticket to the Dark Lord's service.

Well, at the moment he could only guess if it was a summons to service or to death. He shivered at the thought. _Answer the call and you are a dead man this time tomorrow,_ sing-sang the infuriating voice. Very encouraging.

"I'll see you out," Harry interrupted Severus' musings cheerfully jumping up from his chair and heading for the door.

"What are you so happy about?" Severus growled out taking out his wand and sending a cooling charm at his forearm to ease the pain.

" _I would be inclined to join the Death Eaters again, should the opportunity present itself_ ," the boy recited. "You knew the dangers when you said that just as well as you know them now," stated Harry determinedly and walked out of the door leaving it open for Severus to follow.

He was aware that the boy was doing it again - playing with his mind, swaying his thoughts - still Severus couldn't but be infected by his determination. He rose from the bed and walked out of the door into the empty corridor.

As they walked down the tumble down staircase - which was suspiciously quiet in its response to their footsteps - Harry broke the companionable silence with a question:

"How do people who aren't his servants address him?"

Why in the world did the boy ask that? And where was he getting such crazy ideas?

"You mean the Dark Lord?" Severus quarried incredulously. "That would be probably something like: _Please, have mercy_ ," he uttered sarcastically.

Harry laughed and paused on his way down the stairs to turn around and give him an appreciative look.

"You have lived between the Light wizards, how do they call him?" he then asked curiously continuing on his way down the stairs.

"Most of them fear to speak his name and when mentioning him in speech, they refer to him either as to _You-Know-Who_ or _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ ," Severus replied.

"Cowards!" exclaimed Harry in outrage turning again to pierce Severus with indignant eyes as if to make sure he was telling the truth. "How do Light wizards with a backbone call him?" he specified gritting his teeth. Then he swirled around and stomped down the stairs muttering to himself furiously.

When Severus caught up with him in the murky hallway, he responded:

"Many of the former members of the Order of the Phoenix use his name-"

"Which is?" indicated Harry eyeing Severus suspiciously.

"Voldemort, his name is Voldemort. Although Dumbledore has always called him Tom for whatever reason," informed Severus shaking his head over the old man's infinitely eccentric attitude.

"Tom, I like that," stated the boy before making the dipterous unvarnished front door fly open with a wave of his hand and walking out into the blinding sunshine.

Severus followed shortly after him shaking his head over Harry's manners for a change.

"Can I watch you Apparate? I want to see how you do it - Lucius said your way is different from mine," the boy babbled excitedly.

Severus could marvel at the fact that the boy could Apparate and had a different way about it than the rest of the wizarding world on top of that, though he decided that a simple nod would suffice as a response.

As he followed Harry down the thin path splitting the lawn into two equally wild and overgrown parts, he caught sight of a tabby brown cat basking in the sunlight sprawled out on the wall surrounding the plot. He couldn't but notice that apart from the missing eye, the cat's ear was strangely disfigured and one of its legs was dangling over the edge of the wall in an unnatural angle.

"What happened to that cat," inquired Severus unable to supress his curiosity.

"Oh, you mean Brownie? I think you don't want to know, really" the boy chuckled and there was something about the sound that gave Severus the chills and made him believe that he probably truly didn't want to know.

"Maybe we could discuss my schooling as soon as you are finished with the Death Eater business?" the boy suggested cheerfully changing the topic along with the atmosphere.

"Yes, I will find you here," Severus agreed.

"Great, otherwise I think I would die of curiosity," Harry actually _winked_ at him. Severus chose to respond by quirking and eyebrow.

Harry sniggered and wished him amusedly:

"So, good luck with Tom, I guess."

At that point Severus was closer to rolling his eyes than he remembered ever being.

"Thank you," he said drily, walked through the iron gate - which he had forgotten to shut when he'd come - on the sidewalk and making sure there was no one watching he prepared for Apparation.

This was the turning point. Whatever he chose to do now, there would be no way back, he knew. He either answered the summons and stayed in the Dark Lord's service for the rest of his life or ignored it and lived in fear for the rest of his life. What a choice. He had already made his decision anyway - and knowing that Harry approved of it only assured him of its rightness. Wait, what? _Oh, do it already, you dolt_ , said the irritating voice in a strangely gentle tone.

He took a deep breath and turned on the spot. As he was sucked into the tight tube he felt a small hand firmly clutching his left arm. Foolish boy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Dirty mind here and there, some swearing

Harry felt the last molecules of air being squashed out of his lungs as his body continued to be pulled through what seemed like a tight rubber tube by Severus' hand. All he could hear was a strange irritating drone vaguely resembling the sound of a speeding metro train. Harry couldn't see anything since his eyelids were cemented shut by the merciless pressure.

So this was what Lucius had meant. Yes, it was different - and annoying. When he didn't manage to take a breath at the fifth attempt, he assumed that deoxygenation was part of the exasperating process of what the Wizarding World called Apparition and forced his mind to get rid of the rising panic and his frantic heart rate to slow down. He needed to keep a cool head.

Along with the whole wandless-magic issue and a few other things, he'd have to think about Apparition later. Harry knew those matters were important - very important - to the bigger picture but he couldn't be bothered with them now. He had to concentrate.

He was very much aware of the risk he was taking and was sure that his future and most likely also his life depended on how well he would play this. However, there was no need to get overexcited. Harry had a few aces up his sleeve in case something went wrong, though he would prefer if he didn't have to use them. Besides, he would do his best - and that did mean something, right? He felt his smirk stretching somewhere near his bellybutton and had to ponder if he would be recognisable after his encounter with this crazy means of transport.

This past hour or so had been hard on his self-control with all its surprising and infuriating revelations. However, he hadn't lost it then and he definitely wouldn't let himself lose it now. Harry had cherished what had initially looked like an opportunity to live without the intrusion of stupid prejudices. Thus he didn't appreciate that his entrance into the Wizarding World would place him in the spotlight - a spotlight which promised death on one side and oppression on the other. If he had to opt for one of the two, it wasn't a difficult choice, really. Still, he would rather stay alive while keeping his freedom - and that left him with only one option. Negotiation. Skilful, smart and faultless negotiation. Originally, he had thought he would need to decide with whom to negotiate but that choice had been made for him by fate - which wasn't much appreciated either. So, the Dark Lord it was. He did want to meet the man after all.

As the tight tube spat them out with a loud crack, they landed in a heap on a soft, fluffy snow-white carpet. Harry laid still for a moment sprawled comfortably over Severus' chest his hand loosening its grip on the wizard's left arm. There was no immediate danger since the only magical source he could feel - and recognise immediately - was very distant. This was probably his last opportunity to collect his thoughts before the perilous dance began.

Finally he chose to disentangle his limbs from Severus' and scramble to his feet. He turned his back to the man with the intention to study their surroundings but he barely managed to catch sight of an elegant white settee, a tasteful yellow wallpaper and a silver baroque mirror before he was roughly swirled around by his shoulder and had to blink a few times to make out two furious black eyes from the blur that was his current view. He took a step back to put some distance between their faces - having no intention to stare cross-eyed in Severus' eyes any longer or to catch the full blow when the man's head exploded from the fury bubbling inside. He had to force down a chuckle as he watched the fuming wizard and lifted a questioning eyebrow instead.

"Are you out of your mind?" Severus growled out audibly gritting his teeth.

"I feel quite sane at the moment, thanks for asking," stated Harry drily.

"Then you are either unbelievably arrogant or immensely stupid," it was obvious that Severus was barely keeping himself from yelling.

Harry frowned thoughtfully for effect and replied:

"That would probably make me unbelievably arro-"

"This isn't a game," Severus interrupted urgently gripping Harry's shoulders and shaking him properly as if in attempt to catalyse a chemical reaction in his brain which would result in some sense.

As amused as he was by Severus' frenzy, Harry knew he had to calm the seething man down sometime very soon - for the sake of the safety of them both. There was no way Severus could face the Dark Lord in such state.

Laying both his hands on Severus' arms and locking his steady, confident gaze with the man Harry said:

"I know that very well. You must be aware that I wouldn't do this without previous consideration. Be sure that I don't think this a game - and if it were the case, I would call it a game of my life which would still make it quite serious."

Severus eyed him suspiciously for several moments, then sighed and let go of Harry's shoulders. He joined his hands behind his back, walked over to the baroque mirror shaking his head incredulously, then looked up at Harry's reflection and asked:

"Why in the world did you have to pull such a stunt then? There's no need for you to put yourself in danger."

"Do you really believe that? I don't doubt my social skills, yet I am a realist. There is no way for a famous underage boy to survive in a world of two sides without taking or creating one. Given my position and the circumstances, I need to choose a side willingly so that I can draw on the advantages it has to offer - otherwise I'd end up either dead or ridiculously manipulated. At this point in time my age is my greatest obstacle - I can't very well form a political party which would be taken seriously at thirteen now, can I? It is not necessary for me to make my choice public, but I do need backup - at least at the beginning," Harry explained his eyes boring into the back of Severus' head silently willing him to understand.

Severus slowly turned around and looked him in the eye. The man's gaze was clear of anger - there was pure concern now. Worry and concern about Harry's wellbeing as well as the fate of the Wizarding World. Severus needed reassurance - something Harry could possibly provide him.

For the first time in what had to be almost three days Harry completely let go of the barriers restraining his magic. Oh, how he had missed the warm tingling in his fingertips, the pleasant low hum of energy pulsing in his ears - there were many little things he hadn't known he'd loved until he'd made them vanish.

In the muggle world there had never been a reason for him to hide his magic since there had been no one who could feel it. But when he'd seen what effect it'd had on Lucius, Harry had realized that walking around the Wizarding World with his power - which he now knew was somewhat extraordinary - on display like that for everyone to sense, he would be painting a giant target on his own back and depriving himself of the little anonymity he had left.

These past few days he had tried to learn how to conceal his magic and judging from Severus' current reaction to the loose surge of power, he had managed quite well so far. And he couldn't but enjoy Severus' involuntary response. The man had gasped, shivered, then his knees gave out under him and he had to steady himself on the backrest of the luxurious settee staring at Harry dumbfounded the whole time.

Looking Severus straight in the eye, Harry watched realization dawn on the man's face. Harry had been relying on Severus' brilliant mind to work out his intentions - and wasn't disappointed. There were no more disbelieving looks, no questions. The wizard merely nodded and sat down heavily on the milky settee - his dark clothes making a blinding contrast with its immaculate whiteness.

"There is nothing I would like more than to become an independent influence in the Wizarding World - and I will eventually. But let's face it - I am a kid. A famous, powerful kid, yet in the eyes of most adults a _mere_ kid nonetheless. That is the reality and I have to accept it," Harry stated seriously, then smirked and continued: "Now, my magic has just alerted the Dark Lord of my presence, so we should probably get ready for the attention."

A fraction of a second after he had finished speaking the most bizarre creature Harry had ever seen appeared near the polished white double door with a quiet pop. It was all skin and bones and sharp edges, had a disproportionately huge head in comparison to its tiny body and as it bowed, Harry was afraid it would topple over. He tilted his head to one side and observed the creature curiously. When the strange being started straightening up showing no signs of unbalance, Harry mentally proclaimed it a physical enigma. Perhaps its skull and brain weighed next to nothing. Or maybe the large sail-like ears had the difference covered. Weird.

As its wide green eyes the size of tennis-balls found Harry, there was a flicker of...something. It was hard to tell since he had no experience in reading this odd creatures' feelings out of its face, though he would swear that it looked hopeful - and made quite a cute picture while at it.

"Master's Master is being awaiting you, Dobby will be taking Masters to him. Just follow Dobby," the creature informed in a squeaky voice opening the white double door with a snap of its fingers. Without waiting for their response, Dobby turned his back to them and walked out into the dim corridor throwing them somewhat desperate looks over his bony shoulder now and then.

They followed the house-elf - as Severus had cared to enlighten Harry - through a maze of spacious dark corridors in silence, the only sound accompanying them on their way was the loud slapping of Dobby's bare feet against the tiled floor. As they neared their destination, Harry felt the Dark Lord's magic growing stronger and came to make out three other magical cores - one that he quickly recognised as Lucius' and two unfamiliar ones.

Dobby finally came to a halt in front of a carved black wooden door and just before popping out of existence he turned his huge eyes to Harry giving him an urgent pleading look. What was it that the creature yearned for him to do? Interesting.

Without warning the double door flew open and a strangely familiar picture appeared before Harry's eyes. As expected, there were four men in the large square room which startlingly resembled Harry's Office - it was just as plainly yet elegantly furnished mostly in black and white with accents of only one other colour - in this case green - and just as full of books. The whole wall on the left was covered by a huge bookshelf and as Lucius had claimed, there truly were no empty shelves.

The memory of the blond's drunken ramblings almost made Harry smirk. However, his amusement vanished as soon as his eyes found the wizard among the three men kneeling on the shiny chessboard-like floor. All Harry could see of the blond was his back, but he was sure that something unpleasant had happened to the man. His usually perfectly neat glossy hair was wildly dishevelled and at some places glued together with a rust-coloured substance Harry suspected to be dried blood. He also appeared to have difficulty holding himself upright without swaying. Harry came to the inevitable conclusion that he had been tortured and couldn't but feel a bit of sympathy for Lucius.

He then finally let his eyes wander to the wizard to whom they had been drawn ever since Harry had entered the room and felt the powerful, intoxicating magic in its full force for the first time. The energy was deliciously alluring as well as dangerously wild and untamed. Its source was casually seated in a black leather armchair near the wall to the right his calculating crimson red eyes observing Harr's every move.

The Dark Lord definitely didn't look like someone who went to school in the 40s as Severus had claimed. Harry would guess him to be sixteen, seventeen at the most. And hell, he was handsome. Something sinister stirred in Harry's chest as he studied the wizard. There was nothing childish about the aristocratic features. Boyish, maybe considering the slightly upturned nose, though the flawless pale complexion, high cheekbones, strong jawline, delicately shaped pinkish lips and above all the sharp, penetrating gaze all but screamed irresistible charm, power and unshakable confidence. If he were to be honest, Harry would have to admit that he was intrigued to say the least.

It felt as if the silence stretched for ages. Harry could feel the tension in the room but was also able to ignore it. All in all it seemed like one of those situations when nobody knows what to say and however meaningful it might actually be the first phrase spoken is bound to sound silly and dull. Harry assumed he could as well have some fun.

"Your eyes are the same colour as my favourite armchair," Harry informed solemnly awaiting the Dark Lord's reaction with curiosity. Sometimes it was most telling what one said in response to silly things – it showed the person's creativity as well as the ability to stay on top of things.

"I assume that was meant to be a compliment," deadpanned Voldemort and it was impossible to tell if he was serious or joking.

"Oh, not at all. Just filling awkward silence," Harry said drily and would swear that there was a flicker of amusement in the crimson eyes.

It was then that Severus chose to intervene in Harry's search for the Dark Lord's sense of humour. He stepped forward and knelt before the man showing his respect and submission. There was no response to the gesture, not even a nod of acknowledgement, only the crimson gaze focused on Harry's face turned expectant. Harry, however, had no intention of following Severus' example and merely stared back into the now angry and simultaneously surprisingly excited red eyes tilting his head to one side in silent challenge.

Slowly, as if enjoying every moment of his attention and not taking his eyes off Harry, the Dark Lord flicked his wand in Lucius' direction muttering under his breath something he didn't quite catch. There was a jet of red light and in the next second the blond was writhing on the floor screaming in pain. The crimson eyes stayed glued to Harry's, yet now they were absent and had a crazed glint to them while the Dark Lord's magic was shifting in the air contentedly as if being caressed by the pain it was causing.

Harry's gaze had grown cold and emotionless by the time the curse was ended and Lucius fell silent breathing heavily. When the wand which had tortured the blond turned in the long slender fingers and then stayed still aimed at Harry, he spoke in an icy voice holding eye-contact with the Dark Lord unwaveringly:

"I do not fear pain nor do I look up to those who cause it pointlessly. You have given me no reason to respect you so far and therefore I see no reason to show it." When there wasn't an immediate response, he continued in mock realization: "Oh, you're probably wondering how to inspire such a feeling. Well, what I personally admire is rational judgement and insight – and I would expect any respectable man to possess those qualities. If you have waited for my approval, you may show them now."

He knew it wasn't wise to rile the Dark Lord up in greeting. However, it was necessary for Harry to make this statement. He was not to be screwed with. It would probably take some time for Voldemort to accept the fact - and Harry was ready to prove it as often as would be needed. Besides, if this was how the man usually dealt with guests, it was time he learnt some manners, because however powerful he might be, there were boundaries of how one human being should treat another – at least Harry thought so.

He wasn't afraid of the Dark Lord's ire – knowing he could take care of himself. The only thing that currently had him worried was the guilt and concern he felt. Since he held no grudge against Lucius he didn't exactly enjoy seeing the man thrashing on the floor in agony – and the fact that the demonstration was most likely meant for him didn't make him feel any better. Seeing how easy it was for Voldemort to flick his wand and send someone in throes he couldn't but fear for Severus, Mike – and Lucius if he were to be honest with himself.

However, it was Harry's guilt that the Dark Lord had probably been going for – apart from the pleasure of torturing Lucius itself. Well, Harry wasn't about to let show that Voldemort's plan had been successful anytime soon since it would give the man exactly the power he wanted to have over him. Harry could hold his own in acting – and an unimpressed expression wasn't that hard to hold. If he gave any indication that he knew what the Dark Lord was trying to do, he would also assure him that it was working. So, an unimpressed expression it was.

Now, as he watched the kneeling Death Eaters staring at the floor in utter horror apparently wishing to bland into the background and become invisible, it was obvious what Voldemort's tactic to gain _respect_ was. Fear, as a way to ensure one's unquestioned authority, was an option but not the best option in Harry's opinion. If they were to cooperate, he would undoubtedly be speaking to Tom about the matter in the near future.

Harry's eyes found Voldemort's still form again and for an instant he was ready to dodge as the man tightened the grip on his wand. But then amusement shone in the Dark Lord's eyes and to Harry's surprise the wizard chuckled. The sound was as ominous as it was enticing. The strange feeling in Harry's chest intensified and chose to drop to his stomach almost making him squirm - a progress which he desperately tried to ignore.

"Brave, proud and reckless, just like your father," the man prodded somewhat theatrically and searched Harry's face for a reaction. As he found none, he continued in a mocking tone: "I admit I do not know what to make of your sudden appearance, Potter. Should I be disappointed that you deprived me of the pleasure I would take in hunting you down or rather honoured that you chose to seek me out yourself and let me kill you?"

Voldemort was obviously fishing for Harry's weaknesses. Well, if he were to go about it this way the man was sure to come to a dead end quite soon. Harry neither felt all that strongly about his parents nor was he anywhere near fearing Voldemort - while being aware that the Dark Lord's open confession that he intended to kill him was anything but empty talk. He had heard the prophecy, knew he posed a threat to Voldemort and wasn't naïve enough to assume the man was about to spare him just to make him happy. No doubt he'd have to fight for his life today - the question was if it were to be with words or magic.

"As you failed to solve my puzzle, I had to find another way of arranging a meeting with you, Tom," Harry explained serenely. He caught sight of a flicker of caution in the crimson eyes before it was skilfully replaced by mild interest. So the name wasn't just a crazy whim of Dumbledore's, there was much more importance to it than Severus believed.

"Your puzzle?" the Dark Lord inquired raising one of his perfectly defined eyebrows. "Oh, you mean Lucius? I was about to have these two gentlemen," he indicated the wizards Harry hadn't met," pay that barman of yours a visit just before you arrived."

Harry found himself partly relieved that the man truly was the genius he had believed him to be and partly intimidated by the very same actuality - because as it made the way to achieve his goals much more entertaining for Harry, it also made it much harder.

And yes, he was worried about Mike - but knew that in the end it all depended on whether he would be able to play his cards right. He wasn't a fool. He wasn't about to reveal the little detail that when he'd left those hints for Tom, he hadn't known that the man had set out to kill him. At the time he'd seen no danger for himself or for Mike in his actions. As things stood now, the fact that he had intentionally made those _mistakes_ was proving to Tom exactly how innocent and straightforward his purposes were - and he intended to leave it at that.

"What took you so long? I sent you the memory-man three days ago. I was expecting you to contact me yesterday evening at the very least – it wasn't that complicated a puzzle after all," Harry goaded hoping to get to know something about Voldemort's character. If the man were to find it necessary to defend his undoubtedly brilliant brain, Harry would know he was ego-touchy and capitalize on it. If he assumed he was being underestimated and were to try to take advantage of the fact, Harry would leave him to it and benefit from it in the end. However, if he kept his cool…well…then Harry still had nothing to work with.

"Oh, I have almost believed that you made a mistake. How stupid of me," Voldemort responded skilfully switching their roles of the investigator and the investigated and Harry had to stop himself from making an appreciative comment about it. Just great.

Trying to analyse the man was apparently getting him nowhere. If things were to continue to evolve the way they did now, this conversation would take ages while they would only wait for each other to make a mistake. Harry didn't have ages. He needed to put a plan in motion - and happened to have a pretty good one in mind. It would be difficult and would take his unfaltering concentration but he could pull it off, he was sure. And it fitted the situation perfectly. Taking a deep breath Harry lowered his mind shields.

"I usually prefer planting mistakes over actually making them," he informed giving Tom a sly smirk to which the man responded with a smile and it took all Harry's self-control not to gape - at the unexpectedness of the gesture as well as at its appeal. Actually, he did gape a little.

Still not breaking eye contact with the man he watched a thoughtful expression settle on the Dark Lord's face and it occurred to Harry that if he were successful in getting on Tom's good side and forming an alliance, he had serious reservations about a few things - and that was with the little information he currently had about the workings of the Dark side. He could manipulate his way around many things but he also needed to know that if he approached Tom directly about something, they would be able to compromise - in other words he needed to know if the Dark Lord was willing to make a change. Well, he could test it on something irrelevant right about now.

With a wave of his hand Harry conjured a four-seat couch and a leather armchair both in the exact same shade of green as were the heavy curtains lining the window. He took his time to make himself comfortable in the armchair and then looked over the heads of the kneeling men directly in the Dark Lord's eyes challenging him to comment on the change of arrangement. Voldemort merely raised an eyebrow and Harry had the feeling that Tom was deliberately letting him have his fun - and couldn't quite decide if he found it more infuriatingly patronizing or pleasurable.

"Do you always have them kneel like that?" Harry asked indicating the men by a tilt of his head.

"Yes," the Dark Lord replied simply.                        

"You shouldn't," he said giving Voldemort a very serious look.

"And why is that?" asked the man raising an eyebrow again.

"It's not healthy. The floor is cold and they will all end up with rheumatism unable to fight for you," Harry had been barely containing his amusement by the time he finished. This would be one hell of an argument.

"That's what warming charms are for," the Dark Lord deadpanned but Harry saw the corner of his mouth twitch if only slightly.

"It still has to be highly uncomfortable," Harry argued and felt as if he were trying to explain to a particularly stubborn tortoise why not to shit on the carpet - except that comparison was most likely insulting Tom's intelligence as well as his own noble purpose to get everyone seated.

Voldemort snorted as if trying to cover his amusement and then said:

"That is not my concern. Besides, they can stand sometimes, when I feel like it."

It was Harry's turn to quirk an eyebrow.

"Why exactly are we having this conversation?" Voldemort finally inquired.

"I would like your Death Eaters to take a seat, Tom" Harry informed sanding a wave of seductive magic towards the man.

"In exchange for?" implied the Dark Lord suggestively his eyes falling shut in pleasure as the energy hit his senses.

"Let us talk about that once we are all comfy," the boy offered with a smirk greatly enjoying Tom's reaction to his magic as well as the one of the Death Eaters' who failed to force down their shivers of excitement.

When the Dark Lord gestured for the men to go take a seat the four wizards stood up as one, walked to the couch and sat down obediently. None of them dared to glance at him or Voldemort except for Severus who kept giving Harry significant looks - to which the boy responded with a reassuring wink. It was obvious that the Death Eaters weren't used to sitting in the Dark Lord's presence since they all held themselves very straight their hands gripping their knees convulsively and looked extremely uncomfortable. It was hilarious and Harry laughed out loud unashamedly.

"That was one of the silliest exchanges of opinions I have ever had the pleasure of partaking in," he stated chuckling lasciviously.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Still in the highly unpleasant process of fighting down the aftermath of his reaction to the boy's laughter, Voldemort pondered for what had to be the hundredth time what it was that turned him on so much about Harry Potter. The boy was truly beautiful, even more so than he recalled from Lucius' memory. If he counted correctly, Potter was thirteen, yet there wasn't a trace of the child he was supposed to be in his features. And his bearing - the way he moved and talked as if the world around him was merely a big fat punch line to all the jokes that brilliant mind of his could come up with. And his magic! It was so tantalizing, calming and covertly dangerous at the same time it was near driving him crazy. The most infuriating thing was that the boy still aroused him immensely despite the fact that he now knew exactly how far his brilliant mind could go. As far as his arrogance let it.

Potter had made an entrance, he had to give him that. The intoxicating magic, the flawless impenetrable mind shields, the rational no-nonsense attitude and above all the revelation that he, Lord Voldemort, had spent the whole morning searching Lucius' memory for a mistake only to get to know that it had been this damned _kid's_ intention to have him looking for it all along. If he weren't so furious about it, he'd have to admit that it had been well played. Potter's tactics for today on the other hand had been no doubt well planned but that was where the impressive part ended and the embarrassing one began. To manage to pull off the actual act successfully Potter seemed to lack some practice and a cool head.

Initially even the act had looked promising. However, already in the first phrase that had left his lips the boy had indicated one of his biggest flaws - his pathological playfulness. As the conversation had gone on, it had become clear to Voldemort that once he was free to play as he wished, Potter would get to a point where the game lost its sense and became just a display of his wild phantasy. Yes, there was all the potential needed to be able to win - the inventiveness, the imagination, even the insight but the boy's arrogance made him use those qualities in an entirely wrong way which also happened to be the easiest one to get played.

Potter had gotten carried away - a stupid beginner's mistake. The boy had ended up tangled in his own nets simply enjoying hearing himself talk - and it had been so disappointingly easy to get him there. All Voldemort had had to do had been to keep his mouth shut and play along. But of course it made perfect sense - the boy was arrogant. He was able to assess others but failed to judge himself objectively. It had been clear as day that using the boy's own weapon against him would be the means to get to him.

The boy had even failed to hold his mental shields in place - which had provided the Dark Lord with some unforeseen entertainment. He had never seen such a brilliant and imaginative mind in his life. Although it had been kind of strange - he could see the boy's present ideas perfectly but there had been a swirling mass of thoughts and memories inaccessible to him. A multi-layered Occlumency shield? That was highly unlikely - way too advanced for a thirteen-year-old boy. A spontaneous mind defence maybe.

He hadn't had access to Potter's whole mind yet what he could see didn't cease to amuse him. He had given the boy no indication that he'd intended to form an alliance with him yet Potter hadn't hesitated to plan how to reshape the structures of the Dark. How deliciously naïve. Although what had really cracked him up had been the comparison of their argument to a bloody tortoise shitting on a carpet - where had that connection come from was beyond him.

However, the most stupid of things the boy had done had been to reveal his wandless magic - and for such an petty purpose to that. Still, Voldemort couldn't but be impressed. The boy seemed so in control of his power, so confident and casual with it. A truly impressive - though stupidly wasted - surprise.

There was no way he would kill the boy. While in such volnurable state it was far more advantageous to have the Boy-Who-Lived alive. Besides, as much as he despised it, his curiosity was getting the better of him - there were questions the boy had to answer. How had he created his Office? How had he mastered wandless magic to such unprecedented extent? How did he know his name? So many questions...

According to the prophecy Potter posed a threat to him - which seemed utterly ridiculous at this point since the possibility to manipulate such a naïve and no doubt suggestible creature was blatantly obvious. Therefore the opportunity to have the saviour of the Light on his side was far too tempting for him to pass up. Well, the vision of having the boy was far too tempting in his eyes too - but that could be taken care of later.

It didn't cease to amaze him as well as wind him up that even though he now knew Potter was far from flawless, there was still something about the boy that made him irresistibly attractive. There was no one who had the balls to talk to him so boldly - and he wouldn't have it any other way - but it was refreshing and in Potter's interpretation also hot. And then there was the way the boy said his name. Was that a natural ability of Potter's to make the name he hated with a passion sound so sinful and seductive?

Well, however attractive he might be, Harry Potter was in for a ride - and when it ended he wouldn't know what had hit him. Once he was finished with the boy, he would be nothing but a puppet begging him to pull the strings. And at times a whimpering mess begging to be taken. Oh, life was bound to be good.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Some swearing, dirty mind in the second part

Severus couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Harry Potter, the saviour of the Light, the thirteen-year-old son of sweet Lilly Evans, was currently attempting to _seduce_ the Dark Lord. He would have considered it a laughable, desperate act of self-preservation had the boy not been doing such a remarkable job of it. Severus had to admit that he himself had been affected if only for a moment and he now felt utterly disgusted with himself for having been able to see the boy that way.

As he took in the reactions of the men around him, Severus' disgust only deepened. Couldn't they see that despite his misleading mature appearance and behaviour the boy was just that? A boy? And what was the imprudent fool even thinking? Was he trying to prove his damned point that Harry Potter wasn't a _mere_ kid? Or was he only desperate to save his skin? Because there was no way in hell he was actually enjoying this! Was there?

Severus knew there were things worse than death - and in his opinion a horny Dark Lord was one of them. Couldn't Harry see what he was bringing upon himself intentionally piquing the wizard's interest like that? Apparently not. The boy seemed fully engrossed in the game he was playing with the man and if Severus were to rely on his judgement, Harry was currently loosing.

Where had the rational approach gone? When Severus had turned his world upside down deluging the boy with information about his childhood, Harry had apparently without greater effort kept a cool head and shown an admirable amount of insight as well as logical reasoning. There had been no danger for Harry in letting his reckless or arrogant tendencies show in Severus' presence, yet the boy had had to wait for his meeting with the Dark Lord to let his weaknesses shine through his previously perfect stoic mask. It had been so stupid of Severus to believe that the boy knew what he was doing!

And then the bloody wink came about! At that moment he wished nothing more than to stride across the room and give the foolish boy a nice cuff on the head so that he would come to see the light. Seriously, if Harry didn't pull himself together sometime very soon, he would be screwed - possibly in more than one sense of the word.

As much as he cared for Harry though, he couldn't but also consider the danger he himself was in due to the situation at hand. Now, he knew exactly why he had been summoned and the reason - as disappointing as it was - had been much more purposeful than his previous conclusion that he had been trusted. Yes, he knew the reason but still couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

This was all part of Harry's plan. Well, apparently not all the circumstances, but the meeting itself definitely was. Harry had actually _used_ Lucius. Unbelievable! Yet it was evident. Lucius had met Harry and had clearly been intrigued by the boy but hadn't attributed any real importance to him. Carrying out the deal he had made with Harry, he had approached Severus. Meanwhile, the Dark Lord had somehow found out who the mysterious boy was and judging by the present state the blond was in, hadn't been too happy with him for having wasted the chance to capture Harry. And finally this morning when the Dark Lord had been about to unwittingly carry out Harry's plan, Lucius had chosen to mention Severus' involvement. It seemed Harry was the sole reason for him to be in this mess.

To say both he and probably also Lucius were in danger was an understatement. Should Harry give out even the slightest bit of concern about their wellbeing - in this case any indication of disapproval of them being tortured would suffice - they were in hell. Along with Harry. Well, the boy was currently making a great job of heading there anyway.

As perilous as the situation was, Severus also couldn't but find it fascinating. You didn't have two of the three most powerful wizards you'd ever met in the same room every day after all. To feel their magic interact felt quite...overwhelming. Wild against dangerously calm, overpowering against subtle, both equally intoxicating, unpredictable and deadly. Severus couldn't see either of them ever submit - there would be constant tension, one never-ending chain of challenges. How in the world were these two supposed to cooperate?

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Boring into the enchanting green eyes with his gaze Voldemort searched for a way to get past the surface thoughts, dig deeper and finally solve the puzzle that was Harry Potter. To his great displeasure he failed once again. If the boy outwardly acted just a tad more cautiously and his present thoughts weren't so blatantly oblivious to any form of danger the Dark Lord could pose, he would find it highly suspicious. As it was, the boy despite his brilliant brain seemed most ignorant, naïve and all in all harmless.

"What if I told you that I wished to join you?" Potter inquired bluntly.

"I would ask you what makes you think I would be interested," Voldemort replied studying the boy curiously. He had seen something of this sort coming - the boy had sought him out himself after all. And it was exactly what he had hoped for.

"Oh, please, don't be ridiculous," Potter drawled irritably. "I am supposed to be the one with the power to destroy you and I offer you alliance. I think that makes me pretty interesting," the boy stated confidently and Tom could see that Potter's thoughts at the moment were just as cocky as his words. Although to his annoyance Voldemort had to admit that the boy had a point - and knew about the prophecy.

"And why would you choose my side over the Light where you have such a prominent position?" Tom investigated further.

"I have my reasons," Potter responded vaguely apparently deeming the amount of information sufficient - and it was since Voldemort could find what he needed in his head.

The boy was sure that he would make a name for himself without the Boy-Who-Lived status and considering his magical abilities Tom was inclined to agree. And while the Light represented only duties and restrictions to Potter, the Dark impersonated freedom in his eyes. _Well, who am I to spoil such welcome illusions?_

"How do you imagine the cooperation?" Tom asked seeming to benevolently disregard the dissatisfactory answer.

"What do you mean?" the boy inquired obviously confused.

"Your name has its weight on the political scene. Would you wish to keep our agreement a secret or would you make your loyalties known to the public?" questioned Voldemort. Now, it would show if the boy was merely inexperienced or outright stupid.

"I am aware of my advantageous position regarding the Light and since I don't expect your movement to become openly public anytime soon, it would be much more convenient if we kept my political affiliation undisclosed," responded Potter in a surprisingly business-like manner. _Inexperienced it is, it seems._

"That would be sensible," Voldemort nodded. "Your conditions?" he asked simply, knowing this would be the crucial part of their discussion.

Another wave of alluring magic swept through the room and Tom had to fight down a shiver none of the Death Eaters managed to contain. And was that a whimper? It sounded awfully like Lucius. Contradicting his innocent expression Voldemort could feel Potter relishing being in control, bathing in the power he had - or rather supposed to have - over them all. There was nothing arousing about that notion – there really wasn't. Then why did it make his blood run to the most inconvenient of places?

Refusing to let the discomfort make him squirm in his seat Voldemort waited for Potter's answer choosing not to comment and only raise an eyebrow.

"Straight to the point then, Tom? I like that," the boy smirked teasingly and Voldemort couldn't quite decide whether to find his arrogant attitude infuriating, foolish or exciting.

"Firstly I get to choose a group of people who are not to be harmed in any way by you or your Death Eaters - directly or indirectly," Potter explained carefully holding eye-contact with Tom unwaveringly. The boy's intentions about the matter were very well-defined in his head though there was not even the slightest indication of whom he wanted to protect.

"And the group would include?" Voldemort inquired concealing his curiosity.

Leaning back in his armchair and crossing his legs Potter replied:

"Presently, I have six names in mind and I require another four empty places on the List that will be filled when I deem it necessary. I also wish for the people to be replaceable should my opinion of them change with time, should they die naturally or by another's hand. Before we get to names, I would like to know if there is anyone in particular whom you wouldn't want to see on the List," the boy finished looking at Tom expectantly.

Voldemort had to admit the wording was perfect, there were no loopholes, no inaccurate formulations - which was probably due to the fact that the boy had all this carefully planned. On the other hand he couldn't fathom why Potter was giving him a chance to prevent someone from making it on the List. Was it a gesture? Did he expect fair treatment in return? Well, he was stupid if he did. To his displeasure the Dark Lord couldn't find the answer in Potter's head either. At the moment it was perfectly and obnoxiously blank.

"I certainly wouldn't like to have you protect Dumbledore or Fudge. I would also be very displeased if you happened to choose any of my Death Eaters. I consider them mine to protect and reward as well as mine to punish. It wouldn't make a good example if some of them were to get away with everything now, would it?" Voldemort obliged the strange request somewhat snidely.

"That is understandable. What about an additional condition regarding any Death Eaters on the List? I say, neither permanent damage of body, mind or magic, nor death will be caused to the person I choose by your actions or on your order. How's that?" the boy offered.

"Acceptable," Tom nodded in agreement. So maybe the wording wasn't so flawless only because it had been carefully planned. _Well, even an arrogant, naïve fool can have his moments._

"I have only two other conditions. The first is quite simple. I get political support when I call for it," Potter stated and not even waiting for Tom's reaction he continued: "The second is that I get all the information you get - should I require it - I can partake in any meetings I choose and if I have objections to the decisions being made you hear me out."

Three gasps ensued Potter's little speech the only Death Eater able to conceal his shock being Snape, who settled for a disbelieving look aimed at the boy. Considering Potter's arrogance such requests weren't much of a surprise, really. It was almost funny how daring the boy was. He should probably Crucio him - although that would most likely put Potter on guard and he couldn't have that, not quite yet.

"Modesty itself, I see," Voldemort mocked sneering at the boy. "You want political support? What would you want me to do? Declare you the Minister of Magic? And why would I share information with you? What would I gain? A little vulnerable sniveller with all my plans in his head for anyone to take a look at? Aren't you quite full of yourself?" he prodded.

"That sounds familiar... Aren't you quite full-," the boy repeated thoughtfully and then his eyes shone with realization. "Beware, Lucius, I think he's rubbing off on you," Potter uttered theatrically jabbing his finger in the blond's direction and Tom vaguely recalled the boy teasing the man with something along those lines in the memory of Tuesday morning. Potter took his time to enjoy Lucius' indignant glare and then turned to the Dark Lord with a not at all cute lost expression, "or is it the other way around?" he shook his head as if in attempt to clear it and continued: "Anyways... I didn't see the sniveller coming. I admit I find myself rather taken aback by the richness of your vocabulary, Tom. So apt..." the brat goaded and Voldemort had to stop his wand hand from twitching - to kill the boy was the last thing he needed right now. _Patience._

Potter either didn't see or chose to ignore Tom's struggle with his murderous tendencies and went on in a more serious tone - much to the Dark Lord's relief:

"What I mean by political support is the possibility of drawing on your resources should I find myself in need of bribing, blackmailing or simply persuading someone stubborn. You want to know why you would share information with me? Because it would be highly convenient for you to have me on your side and I refuse to blindly follow someone else's lead. You asked for my conditions - this is one of them. Concerning your gain, I suppose I could answer some of your questions today and we could talk more on the subject later," had he imagined it or had the last remark truly been suggestive? "As for me being a sniveller and all that... I think I'd rather leave it without comment," he finished serenely and continued to look Tom straight in the eye. If challenges could become tangible, this one definitely would.

The brat was fucking confusing! In one moment he was all showing off and ignorant and in the next he said something disturbingly reasonable. And to top it all his mind proved he was just being honest all the time. Tom had a nasty feeling that he was missing something. It was difficult to focus on the important things when the boy interspersed the down-to-business talk with his mostly insignificant ramblings and Voldemort was starting to feel the pounding of a headache in his temples. He was getting tired of this very quickly.

"I think you seriously misjudged the situation, Potter. I don't _need_ you. When you were gone I was perfectly satisfied with the state of affairs and I can make you gone again very easily," he hissed in a low dangerous voice and aimed his wand on the boy to emphasize his point.

"Oh, then I guess you either are an imprudent idiot or must have misunderstood my proposition. I was offering you an alliance - an alliance which I can just as well offer to Dumbledore or Fudge. I don't think either of them would turn _the_ Harry Potter down, do you? If you refuse to accept my conditions, I will just take my leave," the boy stated dispassionately, stood up and turned to head for the door.

Before he could take the first step the Dark Lord shot to his feet and spat:

"What makes you think I will let you?"

"What makes _you_ think I need your approval? If you so much as move your wand, I will Apparate out of this place and the next time you'll see me, I will stand by Dumbledore's side," the boy retorted icily turning to pierce Voldemort with an unnervingly calm gaze.

The air was thick with tension the mingled magic swirling violently all but shooting sparks. The Death Eaters' heads were snapping back and forth between the two powerful wizards as if they were watching a dramatic tennis match.

Suddenly, Tom relaxed his stiff posture and sat down gracefully in his black leather armchair.

"You are free to try," he said almost warmly with a nod and an encouraging wave of his hand though his wand was still trained at Potter.

"Oh, should I really? I've already dislodged the wards if that's what you're worried about," Potter informed offhandedly making no move to take his seat or leave. "I want an Unbreakable Vow including all my conditions. I will give you the Vow in return concerning my alliance with yourself - not the Dark. Should you choose not to comply, I will consider any and all agreement between us void," the boy uttered his expression emotionless, his voice firm and resolute.

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He could see in his mind exactly how true Potter's words were and for the first time in his life he found himself cornered. He could take his chances and try to kill the boy but if something went wrong, the consequences would be disastrous. He could hardly afford any additional opposition for his plans to go smoothly and Potter represented very powerful and influential resistance.

Yes, he had taken the possibility of the reappearance of the Boy-Who-Lived into account. However, what he hadn't expected had been for him to have so much magical power and such a brilliant brain in his head. He couldn't let this uncontrollable force out of his reach - it was too risky. Which simply meant he didn't have any other choice than to accept the boy's offer. He only wished he had dismissed his Death Eaters - there was no need for them to witness...this. It seemed a few muggles wouldn't make it till the end of this fucking day.

"I accept your conditions," he finally said as coldly as he could though he could still feel the Cruciatus ready in the tip of his wand.

"Great," Potter grinned cheerfully. Surprisingly, there were no signs of mockery in his expression or his mind, only a strange kind of respect - which didn't make sense at all considering the circumstances. The boy truly was an enigma.

"Severus, would you be so kind?" Potter turned to the Potions Master with a pleasant smile. Snape curtly nodded and stood up from the sofa.

A piece of paper and a sealed envelope appeared in Potter's hand out of thin air. He proceeded to hand the envelope over to Severus and approach the Dark Lord with the paper.

"These are the conditions in writing. Once you read them over, you can give them to Severus and we will take the Vow. If you have any objections to the conditions, tell me. I wouldn't recommend trying to alter them behind my back, you would find it just as impossible as breaking the spell on Lucius' memory was. The List is in that envelope and I will let you see it as soon as we take the Vow," the boy explained calmly handing the paper to him and looking directly in his eyes. It was then that he felt Potter's flawless impenetrable mind shields fall back into place.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Sprawling out on the green leather armchair Harry felt quite satisfied with himself. He had just managed to pull off one of the most masterful and exacting acts he had ever come up with - and the result was definitely worth it. He was safe, the people he cared about were safe, and his future was for once in his life looking bright.

The only job left for him to do now, was to remedy the damage he had done by outsmarting the Dark Lord - at least to some extent. Somehow the idea of the man being put down because of him didn't make him as happy as he'd thought it would. Not that Tom had given him any proof of such feelings, no, the wizard was taking his defeat with all the dignity Harry would expect from a man followed by half of the Wizarding World. There were no sighs of bitterness, resignation or anger. Well, not visible ones. The man seemed to have simply accepted the situation as it was.

That had been what had finally made Harry believe that Tom was worth following - even if he himself had no intention of doing so. When cornered, the man hadn't acted impetuously, he had carefully weighed his options and made a rational, sensible decision. The little detail that he hadn't had all the information needed for that decision to possibly be the best course of action in given case, was one Harry wasn't about to reveal anytime soon.

There was no need for Tom to know that there was no way in hell he would willingly approach Dumbledore - not without reliable political backup at least. Too much blackmail material available. He was aware that he would have to deal with the Headmaster eventually since he intended to enrol at Hogwarts but he now had Tom's support - and therefore his freedom was as secure as it possibly could be.

Now that he thought about it, he supposed he could have contacted Fudge if Voldemort had turned out to be incurably stubborn, though it would have been the last standby solution. Both Severus and Lucius were of the opinion that the Minister had only so much authority as his title lent him and otherwise was nothing but a suggestible power hungry idiot. He knew it wouldn't be the best move to have his name associated with a man with that kind of reputation - and Fudge definitely wouldn't do him the favour of keeping his mouth shut, Harry was sure.

To be honest, Tom had been his one and only option and it had been most helpful of the man to tell him whom he'd regarded as his worthy opponents - that is whom he needed dead for the public to recognise him as the victor. Harry had half expected the Dark Lord to see through that particular trick. Well, he hadn't.

However, the rest of Harry's plan hadn't been so easy to carry out. The initial idea had come from a meditation technique he had practiced to gain better control over his magic. The technique had been extremely difficult to accomplish and it had taken him over three months to master it. He'd been seven at the time. The reward for his efforts had been the ability to divide his mind into two separate parts - one in charge of the other.

Until then he hadn't been able to make his magic do anything that he hadn't truly _wanted_ to happen. Using the technique he had managed to create artificial desire in the forefront of his mind and have his magic react to it, while the better part of his brain stayed clear and independent of the false feeling. Over the years, he had found much more suitable ways of controlling his magic and couldn't even recall the last time he had practiced the technique.

Fortunately he hadn't forgotten how to divide his mind and it had come in handy today. Harry had been aware that the Dark Lord wouldn't fall for anything less than a perfect act. Therefore he'd had to _live_ his role - with a part of his mind at least. It hadn't been exactly fair play since his little ploy had been kind of undetectable to Tom. Well, he wasn't about to be sorry about it anytime soon.

First, he'd needed to pique Voldemort's interest enough for the man to find him more intriguing alive than dead so that they could talk without that elephant in the room - well, for a while. If Tom hadn't seen any possible way to control him, he would have been too much of a threat and - dead. If Tom hadn't seen a challenge in him, he would have become boring and - dead. To divert his attention it had been necessary for Harry to make Voldemort grow tired of the conversation and eventually, once they'd discussed all his conditions, make the final move. So, he'd needed perfect balance between seductive, funny, irritating, cocky and naïve - and that had been what Tom had got.

Harry had relished every moment of playing with Voldemort. Especially the seductive part had been great fun - though he had to admit he'd given as much as he'd got and Tom hadn't seemed to be even trying. It had also shown how protective Severus had become of him. The man had been so deliciously outraged at the reactions of the other wizards - and it had been justified, he supposed, he was thirteen after all - not that he looked remotely that age.

Harry was pulled out of his musings by Tom's disbelieving snort. The man was currently standing between the green sofa Harry had conjured and the window and it seemed he had just opened the List. The Death Eaters still sitting on the sofa didn't dare to turn around in their seats to get him into their field of vision and looked fairly uncomfortable with the Dark Lord behind their backs.

"Something the matter, Tom?" he asked carefully. The last thing he needed right now was Voldemort thinking he was mocking him.

"You put _your own_ name on the List," he snarled incredulously as if it had been the last thing he had expected Harry to do.

"Well, yes, that was one of the main reasons for making the List in the first place," he explained eying the man suspiciously. What was Tom getting at?

"That's so..." he punched the paper with his fist angrily as he couldn't find the right word, "ungriffindorish," he spat finally.

"No idea what you're talking about but sure it is," Harry replied wondering whether his triumph had been too much for Tom to bear and had driven the man mad. That would be rather unfavourable.

Voldemort didn't seem to have heard him and pacing in front of the window he began shooting questions at Harry stabbing the innocent piece of paper with his finger now and then:

"Why do you want to protect Severus and Lucius? You don't even know their last names for Merlin's sake! And these other names...Sanderson sounds familiar but the rest? These are _muggles_! Why protect filthy worthless-"

"Jeez! Calm down, will you?" Harry almost yelled and Voldemort halted facing the wall and slowly turned to pierce Harry with a murderous glare which despite being indeed very intimidating nearly made him laugh. "There is over one billion people on this planet and six names on that List. That still leaves more men than you can possibly ever manage to torture and kill and...whatever you like to do with them - not that I approve of it," he stated matter-of-factly swinging his legs over one of the armrests to make himself more comfortable.

For a moment Tom looked ready to give up the billion just to get his hands on Harry. Then he flicked his wand at Severus' back casting the red curse again which had the unsuspecting wizard falling on the floor and thrashing in agony - silently at first but after a few seconds the pain broke his control and Severus started to scream.

Harry hated it. Despite the fact that he had known the man for less than a day he was quite fond of him and to see him suffer like this made his blood run cold. Yet there was nothing he could do.

"Tell me, what is the point in _protecting_ him in a way that allows me to do this? What kind of twisted logic is that?" Voldemort asked mockingly once he'd finished torturing Severus.

 _You_ speak of _twisted_ ," Harry remarked chuckling sardonically at the irony. "They are yours to punish - you said it yourself. As much as I owe one to Lucius and as much as I've come to like Severus, it doesn't change anything about the fact that they both _chose_ to follow you, to serve you...to be yours to punish. It is not my place to interfere. I merely want to ensure they stay alive and whole. The rest is in _your_ hands, Tom," he said in a carefully dispassionate tone though his eyes were probably giving out exactly how happy he was with the Dark Lord.

Voldemort slowly folded the List, inserted it back into the envelope, crossed the room to put it on the black coffee table and then Harry suddenly found himself staring up into deep crimson eyes filled with curiosity and respect and lust and a few other emotions he didn't quite recognise.

"You know what I would love to do?" Tom asked in a smooth low voice that sent a pleasant shiver down Harry's spine as he shook his head in response. "I would love to take a look inside your head," he said tapping Harry on the forehead with his long slender index finger before he let his knuckles rest against his temple and continued:"to find out how your mind works, how you think, because you confuse me," he finished softly caressing Harry's cheek.

Ignoring the warm tingling in his stomach Harry sniggered and gently pushed the hand aside.

"No, dissection's not happening. Not today, Tom," he said teasingly sitting up to a more socially acceptable position so that he could face the man standing beside the armchair. As he watched a smirk play across Tom's features he had to wonder if the man had ulterior motives even to this seemingly innocent gesture.

"Does it bother you?" Harry asked vaguely. Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him, summoned his black leather armchair and placed it a few feet away from Harry's so that they wouldn't have to speak across the whole room once both seated.

"You mean the fact that I will have to discuss my plans with a cheeky teenage brat from now on? Yes, it bothers me. Although taking who you are and how reasonable you sound from time to time into consideration...I don't know if that actually makes me feel better or worse about the issue," Tom said and Harry suspected that the man was for once honest.

"You know, right now you sound reasonable too, though I have no idea if that's a compliment or an insult to you, Tom," Harry chuckled and marvelled at how _normal_ and still so unearthly charming the Dark Lord could be. He had to admit that even if he did his best in analysing his character, the man was simply unpredictable. And to Harry, that was the most appealing thing about him.

"Don't you want to dismiss them?" Harry inquired tilting his head in the Death Eaters' direction. He seriously doubted this was the side of Tom they usually dealt with.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him and then said with an unreadable expression:

"I don't think you are quite finished with them and if you are, then you are a fool."

"Well, _I_ think you are just curious about how it works and want to see me do it. Otherwise you would make sure they keep their mouths shut yourself since they're yours and it is in your own interest," Harry replied highly amused and also impressed that Tom had managed to work out even that part of his puzzle.

"So, what if I am?" the Dark Lord challenged with a smirk.

The four men sitting on the green sofa were watching the interaction with somewhat desperate expressions trying in vain to make sense of what was undoubtedly a discussion about their fate.

Sighing, Harry agreed:

"Alright, but if you touch anything I swear I'll break your wand," he threatened in all seriousness and Tom seemed to know it was not empty talk. Then his eyes widened and he gave Harry an almost grateful look - probably at the realization how Harry could have dealt with the situation merely ten minutes ago when he'd had him at wand point. Well, damn. That had been one of his emergency plans, though now he had Tom's Vow, so hopefully he wouldn't need it. Still, he shouldn't have let himself get so easily distracted.

He closed his eyes in concentration and slowly made his Office materialize around them.

"Incredible," Tom breathed as he looked around the spacious room in awe.

"Thanks," Harry said absently and proceeded to walk to the third row of shelves and disappear inside.

"Don't," he stopped Tom who was on his way to the shadowed side of the room. He could quite vividly imagine the look on the Dark Lord's face when the invisible force made him halt and smirked.

"How did you do that?" Voldemort inquired curiously once he'd found Harry between the bookshelves.

"Theoretically, you are inside my mind, which means my rules," he grinned innocently at the man.

"So, this isn't real?" the Dark Lord asked reaching out and stopping his fingers inches from the black wood.

"I give you my permission to touch that shelf," Harry chuckled and Tom glared at him but let his pale slender fingers slide across the wood to make sure it was indeed corporeal. "This room is a mere figment of my imagination. However, that doesn't mean the things in it aren't real. They only cease to exist outside my head when I desire it," he explained as he found what he'd been searching for and beckoned Voldemort out of the row.

"How is it that the Death Eaters aren't here?" Tom questioned away his curiosity about the Office seemingly undying as he studied the untidy state of the desk which appeared very much out of place in the otherwise neat room.

"I don't want them here," Harry answered simply. "They are in your room, they can hear every word we say, they can see us moving around - if we haven't walked into one of the neighbouring rooms yet that is."

"Did you write the conditions at this desk? In your head? While talking to me?" Voldemort asked incredulously.

"Yes, in fact I did," he responded smacking Tom's hand away from his beige fountain pen and letting the Office disappear.

To say the Death Eaters were looking confused was an understatement though Harry didn't pay their dumbstruck expression any mind as he approached them holding out a thin book for them to touch. Lucius was the first one to infer what he wanted them to do and once they saw it hadn't killed the blond, they all successively put their fingers on the grey cover, cautiously as if expecting it to burn them, and shuddered as the magic took effect.

Harry then walked up to Tom who had settled himself in his black leather armchair once again and was apparently deep in thought. Clearing his throat to pull him out of his musings Harry held out the book for him to take. After a second of hesitation Tom accepted it and closed his eyes at the feeling of Harry's magic enveloping him.

"You can talk about anything that you have seen and heard since my arrival until about an hour from now only between yourselves and there is no possible way of extracting the information out of your minds without my approval," Harry explained sinking into his armchair. He could use a cup of coffee. Black and strong. And a cigarette would be nice too.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Two dangerous cups of coffee, some foul language, the infamous smoking again - hope you've missed it ;)

Sitting in the green leather armchair in a far too boringly decent position for his taste, Harry greedily eyed the two steaming cups of coffee Dobby had put on the table merely a minute ago. To be honest, the tiny little thing gave him the creeps. Having popped into the room with a fully loaded tray his bony arms couldn't possibly be able to carry once he had laid his enormous eyes on Harry, the house-elf had turned into - for the lack of better words - an ecstatic mess. He had been positively glowing with happiness and Harry had almost expected the creature to kiss him, hug him, give him thumbs up or start bouncing at the very least. To his great relief Dobby had popped out of existence the next second - grinning like a Cheshire cat but having fulfilled none of Harry's fears and he suspected he had Tom's intimidating presence to thank for that.

Tom was being funny. Since the Death Eaters had left the room, he'd been very still and quiet and Harry could almost see the hundreds of questions buzzing about in his head. The silence was getting louder every passing second when Harry finally got fed up with it. Having let a pack of cigarettes from a desk drawer in his Office materialise in his hand he could feel Tom's watchful eyes on himself as he stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a snap of his fingers tossing the pack carelessly on the black coffee table.

"Shoot," he invited blowing out the smoke and conjuring an ashtray next to the cups.

"I understand most of your thoughts before the Vow were part of an act - a rather impressive one, I must say. Now, that you have me where you wanted to have me, I hope you won't mind answering the question truthfully. What was it that made you choose the Dark? What made you approach me and offer your alliance?" Tom asked calmly though his gaze was full of curiosity.

"Why, thank you, Tom. It was meant to be impressive. I'm glad you are able to appreciate it despite your wounded-pride-issues," he said with an impish grin and observed the Dark Lord's attempts at keeping himself from gritting his teeth. "You are bound to learn the reason eventually but I will not tell you until it is inevitable. I want us to be honest with each other, mind you. Yet this particular subject is a bit touchy," Harry replied apologetically. "However, I can assure you that at this point I do not seek power. I only wish to ensure my freedom and independence."

"So, you've chosen to become dependent on me," Voldemort stated with a strange glint in his eyes that nearly managed to send a shiver down Harry's spine.

"We are allies, Tom, which means I can't go against you and you can count on my support should you need it. That doesn't really make me dependent on you in any way, does it?" he smirked putting his cigarette away into the ashtray. He poured an almost non-existent drop of milk into one of the silver cups, leaned back in his seat and blissfully sipped on the coffee quite oblivious to the disgusted looks Voldemort was giving him.

"Oh, stop deluding yourself. You need me. Admit it," the Dark Lord snapped sounding mildly irritated and somewhat triumphant at the same time.

Harry couldn't but burst out laughing and had to lay his cup aside because otherwise he would be in danger of spilling the hot liquid all over himself.

"Yes, I do need you, Tom," he admitted between fits of giggles. "And I managed to make it so that while I get what I need from you, you can't use me, which irks you to no end, doesn't it?" he goaded and then having caught sight of Voldemort's indignant look he cracked up again. "This is going to be so much fun, Tom...I'm not sure the honesty thing is really a good idea, though. We'll kill each other...well, I'll probably kill you since you can't harm me - which makes the whole situation somewhat less exciting," Harry continued to snigger as Tom's glare turned outright murderous. He might have promised himself not to tease the Dark Lord about the conditions but he simply couldn't resist, the opportunity had been far too tempting to pass up. "Okay, I'll shut up," he announced conciliatorily once he'd finally composed himself.

For a while Tom seemed to be weighing the option of calling one of his followers back so that he could vent his irritation. In the end he found a sufficient distraction in the cup of coffee on the table and started sweetening it according to his taste.

"Yuck," Harry cringed as he watched the Dark Lord stir the third heaped teaspoon of sugar into the once delicious coffee. Voldemort slowly raised his gaze to Harry and quirked an eyebrow never stopping stirring. He then lifted the cup from the table and leaned back in his black armchair clutching the silver handle somewhat possessively.

"I'm not the one who drinks it disgustingly bitter," he uttered and as if to emphasize his point he took a sip in a very self-indulgent manner.

"Oh, I get it, when you're not high on torture, you must be high on sugar," Harry concluded amusedly. Tom looked very young, especially when pouting - not that the Dark Lord would ever lower himself to such an undignified display of childishness - and the sight provoked a sudden wave of sympathy in Harry.

"I know how it feels not to be taken seriously because of your age. How does the fact that you are seemingly in your teens go with your ambition to conquer wizarding Britain?" he asked softly in case it was a delicate matter.

Now, it was Tom's turn to laugh. It was low, dark, utterly enticing and had a dangerous edge to it. Harry couldn't get enough of the sound.

"Do you think you look sixteen because of your genes?" the Dark Lord then inquired, his eyebrows raised, his tone amused and incredulous.

Harry merely cocked his head to one side in silent invitation not bothering to respond since Tom was clearly making a point.

"You've obviously aged faster then other children. Have you never wondered why?" Voldemort asked evidently wanting some feedback this time.

"Well, there have always been so many weird things about me that I just counted my mature appearance as one of them," Harry obliged not quite sure what Tom was getting at.

"And it is one of the weird things - as you so aptly put it," the Dark Lord prodded though Harry refused to take the jab. "All these weird things can be encapsulated into one word and that is magic."

"You are telling me, that kids in the Wizarding World age faster then muggle children?" Harry queried sceptically.

"No, idiot," Voldemort retorted impatiently and had a smile tugging at Harry's lips. "I'm telling you that magic alters the body."

"Pardon my obtuseness, Tom, but you've lost me there," Harry admitted mock embarrassedly, glad Voldemort had had enough sense to become a Dark Lord and not a teacher.

Having heaved a sigh Tom explained:

"Ordinary wizards first mature physically so that their bodies are prepared to accommodate the amount of power they actually possess once they are ready to accept it. That usually happens between one's mid-teens and mid-twenties. However, when there is too much magical potential in a wizarding child, the magic can surface in an outburst. The released power starts adjusting the body immediately – therefore, the child ages faster. In these rare cases the accelerated aging process ends at twenty-five, twenty-six years of age because that is when the body is fully mature and can't possibly grow in any way to accommodate more power. Mental maturity is also to be expected sooner – about seven or eight years after the outburst. In any case, the magical outbursts themselves are turning points in these 'special children's' lives. They either become very powerful or…"

"Go mad," Harry completed in a hollow tone. "I thought it was common for wizarding children to have magical outbursts," he remarked thoughtfully after a short pause.

"And it is. Yet these outbursts tend to happen under very different circumstances, are of a very different nature and have very different consequences. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about," Tom implied smirking knowingly.

"So, you are saying that these 'special children' are rare but still exist and are accepted by the wizarding society? That according to the standards of the Wizarding World I'm not...weird?" Harry asked ignoring the Dark Lord's insinuation.

"No, Potter, that's not even remotely what I'm saying," Tom said chuckling quietly. "People like us are usually not accepted well by the wizarding society. Besides, you are very weird according to my standards and I'm afraid that's saying something."

Harry snorted. Yes! There it was, sense of humour.

"You say like us… That would mean that according to your own standards you are weird. Not exactly the greatest proof of your sanity, is it?" Harry teased light-heartedly but knew the matter was in fact very serious. Eventually he'd have to decide what to let on and what to keep to himself. And it all depended on whether he would be accepted or considered a threat to the society should he reveal the real extent of his power. Eventually, he'd have to decide which parts of himself would become Harry Potter as the Wizarding World would one day know him.

"By no means do I consider myself weird or completely sane," the Dark Lord assured with an amused smirk. "We both once were 'special children' though that's where our similarities end and your weirdness begins. I have never seen anyone use wandless magic like you do, I have never heard of a 'special child' reaching mental maturity at thirteen and I have never met a wizard so perfectly in control of his magic," Voldemort concluded and to his bewilderment Harry could hear respect and awe leaking through his carefully dispassionate tone.

"Oh, a surprisingly successful attempt at self-analysis you have there... Not completely sane. Hmm, a bit of an understatement for sure, but you're getting there. I believe in you, Tom," Harry informed in a very shrink-like manner and took great pleasure in watching a corner of the Dark Lord's mouth twitch. "I suppose I reached what you call mental maturity in September - that would make me twelve at the time. Does that bring me closer to a common 'special child' or to being weird?" he then inquired on a more serious note.

"Being weird, most definitely," Voldemort replied trying to conceal his surprise. "That would put your magical outburst into your fifth or even fo-"

"So, your point is that with the amount of power you possess you will soon be in your mid-twenties appearance-wise?" Harry interrupted hastily taking another cigarette out of the pack and lighting it since the first one had long since burned away. Having seen Tom's nod he concluded bitterly: "That solves your problem I guess."

"Believe me, I find it very easy to forget how old you actually are," Voldemort said and if he had meant to sound comforting, he screwed up royally, because his voice was low and smooth and spoke pure sex - and it did manage to send an excited shiver down Harry's spine. He drew on his cigarette somewhat desperately and to his horror found his hand was shaking. Damn, he would have to be alert around this man.

Having cleared his throat, trying hard to ignore Tom's smug smirk Harry reminded:

"If you have any more questions, ask away. I haven't got all day."

"I can't but wonder what happened to your scar," Voldemort observed giving a significant look to his forehead, not bothering to hide his amusement over Harry's reaction. Harry couldn't care less.

"It healed. I suppose it might have been a side-effect of my magical outburst, considering what you told me," Harry replied thoughtfully leaning forward to tap the ash off into the ashtray.

"Interesting," Tom uttered contentedly as if he had just been given the last missing piece of a puzzle. Harry froze in his motion and his eyes shot to Voldemort's face. The realization and shocked satisfaction he found there did not appease him in the slightest. Tom knew. Not all the details, not all the circumstances, but still...the Dark Lord knew his secret.

And it was Harry's fault entirely. He'd let himself get distracted and had revealed too much. Had it happened in front of anyone else, Harry was sure he would have nothing to worry about. He had given away too little information for anyone to work it out - hell, he himself couldn't see how it could be done. But Tom was a genius and had been studying magic for quite some time. Moreover, Tom had been a 'special child' himself and even if the whole theory had been new to him, Harry had caught the hints, no problem - very different consequences indeed. He couldn't but wonder what Tom's story was. Wrecked childhood, Severus had said... Unfortunately, that was not his biggest problem right now.

Was this what Tom had been going for all along, unsettling him with his suggestive glances and remarks to get some dirt on Harry? As pathetic as it was, it had worked apparently. Harry stubbed out the cigarette with more force than necessary and flopped back into the armchair.

"Stupid..." he muttered under his breath swinging his legs over the armrest. Tom's laughter drew his attention from his self-accusing thoughts.

"You are far from stupid, you must know that. It is quite understandable that you've let your guard down having played me so masterfully. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone since it is in my own interest to keep your reputation unblemished. I look forward to the day you find it inevitable to share the whole story. You have my attention now, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, saviour of the Light," the Dark Lord assured chuckling at the irony.

That little speech made Harry snap on guard immediately. If there was anything suspicious in the world, it was Tom voluntarily giving up blackmail material. Yes, to drag Harry's name through the mud wouldn't be the smartest thing to do in his position but that wouldn't stop the Dark Lord from holding the knowledge over Harry's head as a threat. Voldemort had had absolutely no control over Harry. And what had he done with the perfect piece of information? Threw it away! Now, that screamed ulterior motives.

Was Tom trying to get on his good side? Did he want something from Harry? Did he need a favour? That didn't make sense. If he needed something, he could have forced Harry to do it threatening to reveal his secret. Or had he read Harry well enough to know that he would rather have the whole world loath him than let himself be deprived of his freedom? That sounded more likely.

Now, that he thought about it, Voldemort hadn't complained about his teasing throughout their conversation, not even once - and some of it hadn't been all that mild. Was Tom actually trying to get to know him? They were allies after all... Was he striving for a good working relationship? That sounded awfully innocent. Yet also very logical...

No, Tom was probably analysing him. Harry had made sure that the conditions were in no way definitive and depended solely on his own decision at given moment. He had been aware how restrictive an irrevocable Vow that made you choose between keeping your word and dying was and had seen to wording it so that the Dark Lord couldn't find himself in a hopeless situation. There would always be the possibility of persuading Harry - and Tom had apparently come to realize this.

Which meant that Voldemort was now searching for weaknesses he could use to his advantage once he truly needed something and Harry wasn't willing to comply. Of course when he had found one he had immediately tried to cover it up so that Harry wouldn't notice and he would be able to use it later - well, too bad.

Tom was analysing him. And how else was he supposed to do that than by letting the conversation flow naturally? Harry feeling threatened was the last thing he needed. He wanted him at ease, spontaneous... And that was what he would get. They were bound to spend a lot of time together since Harry planned to take part in the management of the Dark from now on and he wasn't about to tiptoe around Tom in fear of giving him ammo for later. He would deal with the fire when it came.

As for the fact that the Dark Lord now knew his secret, it was no use crying over spilt milk. He'd meant to tell him eventually anyway. In the end, apart from his reaction to Tom's suggestive remark, nothing worrisome had really happened.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: More propagation of muggle literature, some swearing, dirty mind having an epiphany

When Dobby appeared in the room yet again balancing two silver cups filled with hot liquid, a matching bowl of sugar and a small jug of milk on a tray in his hands, he found Harry and Tom in the middle of a staring contest, both of them looking as if it was only because of the black coffee table between them that they weren't strangling one another at the moment. In his peripheral vision Harry watched the house-elf's wide eyes grow even wider with fear and when the creature started tiptoeing towards the table, he had to employ every last bit of his self-control to keep himself from laughing. However, as Dobby halted after the first few cautious steps with a pensive frown on his face, then snapped his fingers hazardously holding the tray in only one hand, letting his magic interchange it with the plate on the table and hastily popping out of the room barely a second later, Harry couldn't help himself anymore and cracked up finally braking eye-contact with the Dark Lord. Tom's resulting triumphant grin only added to his mirth.

The cause of their argument was incredibly petty anyway. It had started out by Tom asking if Harry had wanted another coffee. Harry had replied that he would prefer to have tea since it was unwholesome to have more than one cup of coffee per day. That statement had led to a rather fiery quarrel over health and lifestyle in which Harry had stood his ground denigrating the overuse of caffeine and sugar with Tom opposing and later criticising Harry for his smoking. After a while of bickering they had come to the conclusion that they were both too stubborn to ever back down and settled on letting a staring contest determine the winner. As it turned out, Harry lost, which...didn't mean anything actually - apart from Tom being insufferably smug for the next few minutes that is.

"We'll have to find a better way to reach a decision, you know?" Harry commented once he'd composed himself.

"And why would we need to do that?" Tom asked frowning suspiciously.

"Well, if you want to cause a scene in front of your Death Eaters and allies every time we disagree then by all means, staring contests are fine with me," Harry responded innocently.

"As I recall I only Vowed to hear you out, not to take your opinion into consideration," Voldemort uttered snidely. Harry could marvel at the open maliciousness of the remark but he had expected nothing less from the Dark Lord – insidiousness had been part of the challenge from the beginning.

"But Tom, you are forgetting some very important factors," Harry stated dispassionately.

"Enlighten me," the Dark Lord invited sounding mildly irritated.

"Firstly, should I - God forbid - assault your person in the process of voicing my opinion, you can't afford to just let it slide, at least not if you want the witnesses to hold some respect for you. And since you can't harm me, arguing with me is your one and only means of defence," Harry said giving some of the maliciousness back. "And secondly, when it comes to your conviction, you simply _need_ to have the last word. There is no way you will merely hear me out if the topic matters to you. Don't tell me you haven't noticed that little flaw of yours in the I-don't-think-I-want-to-know-how-many years that you've lived with yourself," he explained serenely watching Tom's irritation grow with every other word finding himself partly amused and partly exasperated by the Dark Lord's inability to simply accept the truth.

For a moment Tom appeared ready to retort but then he turned his attention to his cup of coffee and started adding the horrendous amount of sugar again somewhat pensively. Not sure if he would live to hear a response, Harry followed his example, poured a tiny drop of milk into his tea before leaning back in his seat, drawing his knees up against his chest and holding the steaming cup close relishing its warmth.

The silence that ensued was surprisingly companionable and Harry came to find a sufficient distraction in simply watching the Dark Lord think for the time being. After a few minutes Tom sighed and not bothering to hide his puzzlement he asked:

"Why did you make the conditions so tolerable for me? You had me cornered, you could have asked for anything. You could have demanded that I obeyed your orders – not that I would accept the deal if you did - yet you only asked to be heard out. You could have gained power over everything I have. Why didn't you?"

Harry had wondered whether this question would come. Apparently, Tom had been astute enough to realize that the wording of his conditions was by no means accidental. Harry had expected him to come to the conclusion, though there had been the possibility that he wouldn't have – and therefore, he wouldn't have asked. Tom wouldn't have risked showing him the opportunity he had missed if he'd believed that he truly had missed it. Yet the Dark Lord had evidently chosen to believe it had been part of his plan instead. And there it was, the proof that Harry was no longer being underestimated. Despite the loss of advantage, he couldn't but feel relieved. Finally, there was someone with the potential to take him for the person he really was.

"I guess that is the greatest difference between us, Tom. I don't want to be obeyed, I want to be listened to. I obviously can't speak from experience but I'm quite sure it would bring me more satisfaction if people chose to follow my lead voluntarily than if I forced them to do so - and by making you obey me that is what I would be doing to your Death Eaters, forcing them to follow someone they didn't choose to follow. Besides, the Dark is yours, Tom, you created it, you worked hard to get it where it is now – I suppose. I couldn't very well take all that away from you and expect you not to plot against me for the rest of your life. I came here to gain an ally, not an enemy," Harry answered looking straight into the burning crimson gaze hoping that the Dark Lord would recognise his honesty for what it was. Tom stood up abruptly and walked over to the window as if unable to look at Harry anymore. Strange.

"Your mind doesn't cease to amaze me," he spoke in a low, carefully emotionless voice facing the window with his back turned to Harry, who used the moment of privacy to gulp down some of his tea rather unceremoniously. "I could say that it was stupid of you not to take advantage when you had the opportunity - it is what I would have done in your place. However, I have to admit that in the long run, your solution is bound to be more profitable. You settle for less now and gain more step by step. Admirable," the last word was nothing more than a whisper and Harry pondered whether he had been meant to hear it. It was odd to receive a praise from the Dark Lord. Pleasant, yes, though it had been spoken with a touch of some strong emotion - close to self-loathing but not quite - which kept Harry from fully enjoying the words of appreciation.

Voldemort then turned to Harry and there was accusation as clear as day in his eyes.

"You make yourself appear quite harmless, don't you? Still, I have to wonder. Where do I stand in your vision of the future?" he said in an icy voice and suddenly, Harry understood where Tom was coming from.

He knew he had gained the Dark Lord's respect the moment he had pulled one over on the man. Yet now, Voldemort was starting to _like_ him and considering he was supposedly the one with the power to destroy him, that made him all the more dangerous in Tom's eyes. The Dark Lord couldn't afford to grow fond of him, not when he had absolutely no assurance that Harry wouldn't stab him in the back once he got what he needed from him.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't promise not to do that since he didn't know how reasonable Voldemort would be. He found dealing with the Tom he had seen in the last hour or so somewhat enjoyable. Still, there was the possibility that behind all the things Harry had come to like about him, the Dark Lord was in fact too far gone. Harry remembered the crazed glint in his eyes when he had tortured Lucius and Severus - it had been anything but healthy. And it could mean nothing or a problem or a disaster, only time would tell. Until then Harry couldn't be sure what he would do concerning Tom. However, he could share his vision of the future with the Dark Lord, at least the idealistic part of it.

"In my vision of the future, you stand right here, arguing with me over the silliest of things and making me laugh with your murderous glares. In my perhaps naïve vision of the future, I learn from you and you learn from me. You may not trust me now but in my atrociously starry-eyed vision of the future, you do. Call me sappy all you want but in my vision of the future, we actually help each other," Harry said softly trying desperately to ignore the fact that Tom was currently gaping at him. Having cleared his throat to bring the Dark Lord out of his daze he continued: „Now, we seem to have yet another elephant in the room and his name is Prophecy. Isn't he cute?"

Having collected himself Voldemort eyed him disbelievingly for a while and Harry almost expected the Dark Lord to walk over to him and poke him to make sure he was real. To Harry's relief Tom finally relaxed somewhat, then chuckled and once he was comfortably seated in his armchair again, he said:

"Not cute at all. What do you suggest we do with him?"

"He could move that fat pink arse of his and march to Buckingham palace for all I care," Harry responded trying to draw the Dark Lord's thoughts as far from his suspicions as possible.

"He's pink?" Voldemort asked incredulously his eyes shining with amusement and Harry knew he had won this one. And there came another thing making him disturbingly…pleased. He had rarely come across someone fairly sane with whom he'd shared some of his more surreal ideas and who hadn't given him at least one look that had accused him of being an utter lunatic in return. He had always found those looks more entertaining than worrisome though it was agreeable to have someone willing to play along.

"Of course he's pink!" he assured mock indignantly. "But, he is _ours_ , Tom, you can paint him half-black if you want," he offered now only partly joking. Apparently Tom saw it too and his brow furrowed in his effort to puzzle out what Harry had meant.

After a moment he gave up and inquired curiously:

"What are you on about?"

"Just think about it, Tom. If it is a true prophecy, then it will be fulfilled and there is nothing you can possibly do about it. If it is a bunch of bullshit, than you can only screw up your life trying to follow it or go against it. One way or the other, it would be absurd to pay it any mind. Take Oedipus - he knew it all and where that got him," Harry stated looking at Tom expectantly.

"Who is Oe-" the Dark Lord started asking.

"Seriously! What are all these books about?" Harry interrupted exasperatedly waving his hand in the general direction of the huge bookshelf.

"Magic mostly," Tom replied sniggering at Harry's irritation.

Harry shook his head incredulously, then sighed and explained:

"Oedipus is a king from this Ancient Greek myth who despite knowing he is destined to kill his father and marry his mother unwittingly fulfils the supposed destiny. Besides other things, the myth deals with the paradox that if Oedipus didn't know the prophecy in the first place, it probably wouldn't come true at all - which is exactly the situation we are facing. Nothing good can come of knowing the prophecy, you proved it yourself twelve years ago. We should not seek knowledge of it."

Tom apparently didn't want to share his thoughts on the matter with Harry yet because he remarked:

"I still can't see the half-black elephant anywhere."

"To me, the prophecy is meaningless. It could say that I will die of reading too much and it would not change a thing about the way I live my life. It could say that the old man will kill me and I would not treat him any different. _It doesn't mean anything to me at all._ However, if you wish to assign importance to it, I have no right to stop you since from what we know the prophecy concerns you just as much as it concerns me. But it is your choice, I don't want any part in it and I want you to respect that. Even if you learn the rest of the prophecy, I wish to stay blissfully ignorant. Even if your part of the elephant turns black, mine stays very much pink," Harry finished with a grin.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Voldemort had to ponder if there had ever been a time in his life when he had wanted something so bad. Maybe his yearning for a body to call his own had been somewhat comparable though nowhere near this all-consuming. His desire then might have been weakened by the fact that he couldn't actually feel properly since he'd had no body - but he doubted it had had any real impact. No, he was quite sure. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted Harry Potter.

Apparently, there was nothing Potter valued more than freedom – and that made him the most dangerous person Tom had ever met. There was _nothing_ that could stop the boy, no leverage to be found. Yes, there were things and people that mattered to him but his impossibly rational mind labelled them all insignificant in comparison to his vital need. In the end he was clear of any real interest in the world apart from being _free_. Tom believed that was also where the origin of the absolute impartiality of his judgement, of his seemingly infinite insight and understanding laid.

The world according to Potter consisted of Potter himself, his living space – his own brain appeared to have that covered - and… _fun_. Because that was what the rest of the world was to him, nothing more and nothing less than fun. Still, he had morals, he had his steadfast opinions and believes. But most importantly he undoubtedly had a goal, an objective – needless to say Tom was dying to know what it was. Potter had a drive that had to be fuelled by _something_ and it could hardly be the need for freedom – that simply wasn't good enough. There had to be something deeper, something…

But there were other peculiar, rather bizarre things about Potter. For one he seemed to be carrying quite a few exotic animals in his head. Turtoises, elephants…what would be next? To Tom, they weren't proves of insanity, no, they were one of the more obvious symptoms of Potter's boundless imagination which tended to find connections where no one else could see them. His fantasy was probably the means to the way he _saw_ things simply understanding their very essence and then voiced his conclusions in a very matter-of-fact, casual manner as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if to uncomprehend wasn't the second nature of the human race.

It worried him greatly that he no longer wished to only fuck the boy - which could have been quite easily dealt with. Now, he wished for Potter to want him, he wished to know the mind that worked in ways he could neither understand completely nor stop admiring, desired him. He wanted Potter to crave his attention, long for his touch – and found it exceedingly pathetic. He could just take the boy, what was the difference? Tom didn't know what the difference was yet, but he was now painfully aware that there was one.

Harry Potter was a problem or would soon become one, he knew. Then why did he feel as if an irritating, obtrusive but brilliant solution had come to his life? As much as he loathed to admit it, he needed the challenge. He needed motivation - not desperately, he could go on without it, but still… He'd led this war for far too long with a hardly satisfying outcome. _He_ _needed_ _this_.

Taking the way he'd worded the Vow and what he'd said earlier about his vision of the future into account, Potter was far from wishing to destroy Tom's life. It could mean that he was a big softie underneath his no-nonsense attitude or that he'd settled for less to appease him and make sure things would go smoothly but Tom knew better. The policy of necessary evil sounded more likely. However, whether Potter considered restricting him or letting him keep his power the necessary evil was another thing entirely.

An hour ago, he would have said that while playing gracious Potter had missed his chance to gain any real power and influence in the wizarding world. He would have called the boy foolish and naïve. Now, that he could see the ingeniousness of Potter's plan, he had to call himself foolish for not seeing it sooner. This way Potter had truly won a powerful ally, who had to treat him as his equal, consider his opinions, help him in times of need – and who above all had no way and also no good reason to go against him. It was brilliant! Oh, how he wanted the boy.

The only matter where Potter's reasoning hadn't been flawless was the Prophecy. He didn't know what Tom knew – if he did, he probably wouldn't believe that ignoring the thing altogether would solve everything. The little prod at his mess-up twelve years ago hadn't gone unnoticed either. Was the boy truly willing to pass the fact that he had murdered his parents over in silence? Would he not at least question him about it? Not that Tom wanted him to but still, it wasn't every day one found himself chatting – was that truly what they were doing? – with the very man that…well, there was no point speculating about it. Potter wanted elephants? He would get elephants.

"When you put it that way, the whole issue sounds quite easy to solve. Yet you are missing something rather essential – that if a third party has the elephant black, it is no longer safe for you to keep it pink."

"If you ignore a story that is either fictitious or self-fulfilling, someone's knowledge of it endangers you exactly as much as its actual existence. Potato, potahto, you see? Let's now work with the eventuality that it is self-fulfilling. The prophecy comes true only if the right person knows it exists. Or does it? If you hadn't known it existed you wouldn't have tried to kill me and would now most likely rule the wizarding world. Or would you? What if I'd known what you knew when I was a baby and ran to Greenland to live with the Eskimos – disregarding the insignificant detail that I had a brain the size of a penguin egg at the time – would any of the madness that ensued have happened? It is a paradox, can't you see? There is no point in trying to solve the unsolvable, Tom. You have to decide to let it be or go crazy – because that is the only way you will find a solution that makes sense," the boy said and if Tom wasn't mistaken he was growing tired of the topic. For whatever reason Voldemort found it funny. Besides, there were Eskimos and penguins this time around, it _was_ kind of funny. On the other hand, potato, potahto left him somewhat baffled.

"It means there's no real difference," Potter supplied seeing his confusion. Tom felt a pang of caution at that. The boy could read him alarmingly well.

"I do understand what you are trying to tell me, though I don't really see what your point is. I agree that it would be for the best if we _could_ ignore the prophecy. The thing is that we _can't_. Not if there is someone, who knows what it says. What if the prophecy uncovers a weakness that could be fatal?" Tom said wondering whether he hadn't given away too much – he was dealing with a genius after all. But no, Potter couldn't possibly work that one out – he knew next to nothing about magical theory. Still, he was sure he'd caught a glimpse of a calculating expression on Potter's face before it had disappeared under a mask of mock awe.

"Wow! Have you just admitted you have a weakness? I guess we'll have to talk elephants more often," Potter teased, then cocked his head to one side like a curious child and inquired: "And that someone would be?" having studied Tom's expression for a second or two he continued: "Oh, I see, you won't tell me because you are afraid I would take advantage. It is someone from the Light side then, I assume. Well, let me assure you that I would be more inclined to kill the person than to ask him to tell me the prophecy. Actually, I think I might do just that – it would make my life _so_ much easier because then you would stop bugging me about this whole thing," he concluded thoughtfully tapping his chin with his index finger for effect.

Tom laughed and chose not to point out that he had neither brought up the topic, nor had he said more about it than Potter had. There was no doubt about it, the boy was hilarious when frustrated. He was quite sure he would do no damage by telling him. Potter could be lying about not caring what the prophecy said in attempt to get Tom to talk. However, he apparently had Severus wrapped around his little finger and the man could give him the information just as well as Tom could. Now, that he thought about it, Severus was most likely the one who had told Potter about the prophecy in the first place given how much the boy knew. For some reason, he didn't feel like punishing him for it. Yes, telling the boy was a risk he could take. He hoped that Potter's reaction would shed some light on a certain theory of his.

"One Albus Dumbledore seems to be in trouble," he remarked offhandedly not taking his eyes off Potter's face.

For a moment Potter really looked ready to kill, then he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "bugger" and gulped down the rest of his tea hiding the better part of his face behind the cup in the process. Tom had his answer. Potter's little secret that he now vaguely knew about wasn't a secret to Dumbledore - as he'd suspected. It gave the perfect explanation to many of his questions – why Potter had approached him, why he had worded the conditions with such great care so that Tom couldn't find himself trapped and wouldn't plot against him, why it mattered so much to him that he would get political support when he called for it, why the Light hadn't been an option for him, why he was hoping the two of them would come to trust and learn from each other. Potter had no one else to turn to, he was his one and only chance.

It stung quite a bit that the reason why he'd accepted the conditions had been nothing but a bluff. The endless possibilities he'd had and had given up - for what? For a fucking lie! He could be pissed off at Potter all he wanted but that wouldn't change anything about the sickening truth – that he, Lord Voldemort, had let himself be fooled. By a thirteen-year-old. A genius with a mind more well-developed than most adults. Still a thirteen-year-old. A thirteen-year-old he wished to fuck senseless but not unless the boy wanted him to. This was seriously _absurd_.

He looked up from the white tile he'd been killing with his glare and found Potter watching him with a knowing smirk. His magic probably hadn't been too subtle about his emotions. Then why wasn't Potter horrified that he'd found out about his trick? Of course, now that he had his Vow, it meant nothing to the boy that Tom knew _how_ he'd been played. He was in desperate need of a torture session. Now.

"No, at the moment that man _is_ trouble. Although he might get into trouble… can't wait to see the day. I guess that's something we have in common," Potter winked at him and chuckled as Tom threw him another murderous look. "You probably want my head right now. Well, I don't feel like obliging you anytime soon, but once I get myself to do the nasty job of writing my last will, remind me that I should leave my head to one Dark Lord Voldemort to do as he pleases with it," he offered in a conciliatory manner that made a corner of Tom's mouth twitch against his will.

"Dobby," Potter called out. "Go, fetch Severus for me, would you?" he actually _asked_ the creature that didn't dare to respond or raise from its bow before it disappeared with a pop.

Tom was relieved. He would have his torture, he would have time to think, he would have his fourth bloody coffee of the day and would hear no stupid comments about it. Oh, yes, he was looking forward to that. Still, there was a part of him that felt…disappointed? They had only scratched the surface of his curiosity about the boy, he was far from satisfied concerning that and even though he knew the brat would be back sooner than he could fully recover from their first encounter, he felt… Hell, this was getting weirder and weirder.

"Is he always this chatty?" Potter then inquired curiously and it took Voldemort a moment to realize he was asking about the house-elf.

"Fortunately, he is adjustable," Tom replied indifferently. "The way he butchers English annoys me," he added when the boy quirked an eyebrow at him.

Potter laughed and Tom came to the conclusion that it was impossible to find the sound irritating however hard he tried.

"Do you usually just do away with everything that annoys you instead of dealing with it?" the boy asked innocently.

"Look at you, you are still alive," Tom sneered at him.

"Unbreakable Vow... Ringing any bells? I don't count obviously," Potter informed with a smirk.

"Obviously," Tom snorted. "Then, yes, I suppose I do if I can," he replied hoping it would appease Potter for the moment and make him shut up.

"And when was the last time you couldn't?" the boy queried away inquisitively.

"Just what are you getting at?" Tom snapped finally fed up with the questioning.

"I'm searching for the cause of your lack of patience," Potter explained matter-of-factly.

"I think it's time for you to leave," Tom said curtly getting up from his black leather armchair snatching the thin grey book from the coffee table and heading for the door.

"See? You are doing it again," the boy remarked but followed him out into the dimly lit corridor chuckling quietly.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Still unable to get a grip on himself, Severus followed the house-elf through the maze of dark corridors with a smug smirk on his face. He couldn't help himself. The brat had led them all up the garden path. Him, Lucius, Yaxley, Avery. The bloody Dark Lord! An incredulous chuckle escaped Severus' lips and made Dobby throw him a fearful look over his bony shoulder. Severus managed to school his expression into one of seeming composure but the persistent grin split his face again in the next second. It was official, he was fighting a losing battle with his own face. And he couldn't care less.

Harry Potter was a bloody genius! He'd suspected it, yes, though to pull off such a brilliant act and fool one of the most undeceivable people Severus had ever met, that was an irrefutable proof. And from now on, the Dark Lord would have to discuss his plans with Harry. The boy was safe, Severus was safe – well, as safe as a Death Eater can be – the wizarding world was safe from doom. It felt like the sun was shining on the future and nothing could possibly go wrong.

As flippant and touched in the head as Harry sometimes appeared, Severus was sure there was plenty of love, sympathy and tolerance in his hearth – he was Lily's son after all – and his brain was capable of relentless rational judgement that would never lead him astray. Perhaps, Severus was being a little too optimistic but at the moment, he didn't give a flying fuck – had he really just thought that? 'Plant an influence,' the boy had said. Seriously! Severus had imagined many ways how that could be done, but this? This was amazing, this was bloody perfect!

As they neared the Dark Lord's chambers, distant voices echoing through the corridors reached Severus' ears.

"Here, this is yours," said and irritable voice that Severus immediately recognised as his Lord's - which made him sober up a bit.

"No, I want you to keep it - and read it." That was definitely Harry - sounding fairly amused.

"Golding - what a disgustingly muggle name. Lord of the Flies... Is this yet another one of your _very_ _subtle_ attempts at mocking me?" the Dark Lord grumbled exasperatedly as Dobby turned the corner and Severus almost walked into a laughing Harry.

"See you around, Tom," the boy managed to say between his chuckles, then grabbed Severus' arm and they were both whisked away into darkness. Harry truly had a different way of Apparating, Severus had to agree with Lucius on that one. Unlike his previous experience, this was surprisingly pleasant and kind of gentle.

They landed in the middle of the unmistakable uncultivated lawn surrounding Winter's Orphanage on the side of the building not facing the street. It was a well-chosen destination for Apparition. There were thick bushes lining the wildly overgrown piece of land and if someone saw them from one of the countless windows above, they would probably assume the two of them had just emerged from the depths of the tall grass.

Harry started to make his way through the stems that nearly reached his waist and Severus soon fell into step with him barely resisting the urge to pat him on the back jovially.

Harry gave him an odd look before commenting:

"You seem…giddy."

Severus tried to glare at the cheeky brat but couldn't muster enough menace to do it properly.

"For someone who spent the last hour alone with the Dark Lord you seem rather cheerful yourself. Did you have a good time?" he inquired drily.

"Yeah, we totally hit it off," Harry replied with a wink nudging Severus's shoulder conspiratorially. Severus couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so freely.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Strong language, the Malfoy family on the brink of madness?

If he'd ever seen anything equally hilarious and disturbing, it was Severus in his current state of mind. The man radiated bliss. There was no other way to describe how he…well…radiated bliss. It was too rich for words, really. Harry himself was happy with the outcome of the negotiations but Severus' reaction bordered on endorphin high – which was a condition Harry hadn't expected to stick for more than a few seconds in the same room with the man considering his everlasting sardonic attitude, let alone in the same brain tissue.

As amused as he was by his not so subtle display of joy and relief, Harry couldn't but worry for Severus' sanity. The man had spent the last twelve years in a state of emotional shutdown trying to cope with his grief and guilt as far as Harry knew. He probably wasn't used to dealing with such strong sentiments he'd been subjected to today – the morning incident spoke for itself and Harry supposed radiating-bliss did too. He suspected it had been a very long time since Severus had let something coax him out of his carefully maintained apathetic shell. If there was a way for him to start _living_ again, Harry was certain that these initial…extremes were the means for Severus to find it - though should the frequency of such events stick to the schedule it had taken up today, Harry might as well start searching for the best madhouse to place Severus in.

As he was quite sure neither breakdowns nor endorphin highs were common occurrences in Severus' life, he doubted the man would be particularly delighted about having been seen in those conditions - once the overwhelming impression of life salvation died down that is. Besides, there was the matter of Tom's obvious _interest_ in Harry – he had a feeling that Severus would not take that very well. Thus, despite knowing that bearing Severus' subsequent grumpiness would only serve to further deepen the bond of their rather odd friendship they had struck up, Harry intended to do everything in his power not to be present for the show – and genuinely pitied the unlucky souls who would fall victims to Severus' mood.

Nevertheless, as he now watched the wizard work his way through the thick tall grass with fresh energy and new-found ease to his steps, Harry felt his chest swell with sense of achievement. If he hadn't accomplished anything today apart from facilitating this man's life and sorting out the mess his scattered loyalties had made in his head – at least to some extent – it had been worth it.

And yes, that was far from all he had achieved but Harry knew he couldn't let himself get carried away by his success. The game had only just begun and even though Harry now had a say in the rules, he was satisfactorily familiar neither with the players, nor the playing field – which would have to be remedied as soon as possible. For one, he had intentionally avoided the talk about objectives and political aims so far – with Severus as well as with the Dark Lord. With Severus he hadn't wanted any second thoughts to emerge from the obtained information – he knew himself well enough not to tease his importunate urge to change things before he had the proper means to change them. He'd had to face Tom, focused on getting him where he had wanted to have him, changes could wait. Concerning the Dark Lord, Harry wished to be thoroughly prepared when the talk came. He intended to be well-informed about Tom's cause so that he couldn't be easily deceived or swayed by his wordplays and manipulations. He wanted to face the issue with his goal already set up – along with the tactics to achieve it. But most importantly he wanted to face it with his mind clear and sharp – a mind that could hardly stand comparison with the mass of thoughts and feelings currently swirling in his head. At least he knew what – or rather who – the cause of the jumble was.

Harry wasn't a dupe. He had noticed the way the Dark Lord looked at him and knew his _interest_ was the furthest thing possible from innocent. During their privet conversation he had been waiting for Voldemort to act on his lust, prepared to resist the temptation of letting something happen between them. Because the idea of having Tom was tempting, Harry refused to fool himself into thinking otherwise. Yet, their relationship was in its making and complicated enough already without the addition of a sexual side to it - and something told Harry that if they explored that side, it would make a mess of them both - which neither of them needed right now. Perhaps, those were the thoughts that had kept the Dark Lord from trying anything - but Harry doubted it. It didn't seem like Tom to be considerate of their relationship since his concern for the one between him and his followers - the closest things to friends he had, Harry assumed - stretched exactly as far as his patience did - which made it nearly non-existent. And it was even more absurd to imagine it had been the Dark Lord's morals making him keep his hands to himself. Laughable, really. Whatever the reason for Voldemort's restraint, Harry was grateful for it - because the pull was there, undeniable and far from weak.

If he were to be honest with himself, Harry couldn't find one good, rational reason for his own restraint. There was this... _feeling_ that made him believe he would regret it if he played with Tom that way. It was strange and infuriating and ridiculous and for the life of him he couldn't put his finger on it. His brain supplied him with thousands of explanations that were either lame, overly business-like - saying that he shouldn't get distracted until he gained a solid social standing in the Wizarding World, and such rubbish - or outrageous - those, he suspected, had their origin in his numerous encounters with Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters perhaps too early in his life, as Miss Bracket had warned him, after all.

Harry knew he should leave the matter alone until he calmed down, gathered his wits and got on top of things again – for the sake of his peace of mind. But peace apparently wasn't what his mind desired since it kept bringing one memory out of the turbulent chaos over and over again as if trying to show him just how pig-headed it could get. _Refusing to consider your own thoughts, are you now? Plan to wait for the_ feeling _to fade away? That doesn't seem like the best way to make sense of it if you ask me..._ Harry sighed and listened to himself asking for the umpteenth time:

_"And when was the last time you couldn't?"_

Had he got an answer, it would also have been a reply to the queries hidden inside the seemingly insignificant question.

_When was the last time you let someone speak to you freely, Tom? Without having them kneel before you? Without the threat of torture and death hanging over their head?_

But he hadn't got an answer then. Now, he could imagine what it would have been and was glad Tom hadn't given it – it would have spoiled the mood. Because there had been no such time or it had ended along with Tom's _wretched_ _childhood_. It had ended the moment _Tom_ had become _Lord_ _Voldemort_ – a brilliant, charming yet unforgiving master to some, a vicious, heartless monster to others, and a strictly unapproachable character to them all. No one had ever been _enough_ to make him stop and listen – and seeing the rising death rate, people had simply ceased to try. He had never held _enough_ respect for anyone to feel the need to listen to them. No one had ever meant _enough_ to him to be allowed only a glimpse of _Tom_. It was a sad life he had chosen to live. Harry didn't pity him. Tom had made his choices, there was no need for pity. But every human being deserved understanding. And Harry thought he could understand eventually.

He probably would have come to appreciate his own unique position much later had Severus not pointed it out. Now, he couldn't turn a blind eye – well, he could but his conscience would eat him alive. He had indeed spent an hour in Tom's presence – and had been listened to. Not because what he'd had to say was important. Simply because Tom had deemed him worthy of his attention. Somehow, Harry was _enough_ – which didn't make him feel honoured at all, merely obligated. Obligated in the same way he would feel if he were given an innocent child to take care of - a tabula rasa to cover with the first, indelible words. Except Tom was no innocent child. He was a grown man, a powerful man, a man who would inevitably leave his marks on the history of the Wizarding World. And Harry was presumably the only person Tom allowed himself to listen to.

Or perhaps, he was reading into it too much. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him – tea, coffee and cigarettes weren't a sufficient compensation for breakfast and lunch after all. At the moment, Harry was immensely grateful that there were no serious matters left for him to deal with today. He needed time to brood. Thoroughly. He was sure a nice, maybe not simple but at least definite solution would emerge from the depths of this...problem – it always did in the end. In the meantime, he had research to do. And two years of magical education to catch up with. And quite a few issues to think through. And Trouble to meet. And a giddy man to ask for help. He could as well start with that.

"I think we should establish the Busy Thursday. What say you?" he uttered theatrically turning to the wizard beside him and letting his hand fall on the man's shoulder in a patronizing manner as they finally approached the unvarnished wooden front door of Winter's Orphanage. Severus merely quirked an eyebrow at him but to his relief, Harry could read in his eyes that radiating-bliss was far from over.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

The sun was shining, the peacocks screeching like crazy and Draco Malfoy was bored. This summer officially sucked. This time last year - and all the years before that as far as he could remember - they had been at one of the country manors in France. He especially missed Provence and their villa in Cotignac, but that might have had something to do with the Greengrass Manor in the neighbourhood and Daphne being a decent Seeker. The country house in Névez though, had a charm to it none of the other places could quite compete with. It was a bit rainy up there and the Atlantic was rather cold but there was something about Bretagne that had impressed itself on Draco's mind. Now, he would give anything even for the unbearable heat of the busy boulevards of Paris, just to escape the tediousness of England.

He knew that it was England's fault as much as it was Blaise's, Theo's, Pansy's or Daphne's that they couldn't let their parents leave without them. He also knew it wasn't Father's fault that he had too many obligations in London to take his family abroad or to spend some time with Draco. He knew all that well enough but that didn't make him any less _bored._

The first two weeks of July, Draco had entertained himself by trying to figure out why he was forbidden to enter the furthest chambers of the right wing. Once he'd got tired of waiting for his parents to let something slip, he'd decided to investigate by himself. He'd successfully sneaked into the White Parlour without Mother noticing - Father had been in London, again. There, to his great surprise, he'd found a group of rather scary-looking people clad in black from head to toe. Before he could muster up enough courage to ask them what they'd been doing in his home, a loud pop had resounded through the room - making most of the strangers jump and look quite small and frightened - and in the next second, Dobby had been pushing Draco out of the door, through the corridors back to the left wing, squeaking so rapidly that Draco had been able to catch only the words 'Mistress' and 'furious' - which had been all he'd needed to hear to infer what mess he'd got himself into.

Draco had then ordered Dobby to dip his nose into a pot of boiling water and count to ten before pulling it out - to show him what would happen to it should he choose to stick it anywhere near Draco's business again. The elf hadn't seemed to like him after that - now, that he thought about it, the creature had never truly liked him. Not that he cared.

Having picked up his books - which he hadn't even touched over the afternoon - Draco left the terrace oblivious to the beautiful sunset turning the delicate clouds scattered across the slowly darkening sky red and casting the last feeble rays of light across the sleepy land. It was getting cold. Dropping into his favourite teal settee in the lounge he put the stack of books on the oval glass coffee table beside him and opened Father's old copy of Numerology and Grammatica on his lap without the slightest intention to read it. He wasn't in the mood.

As tiresome as his holidays had been so far, he had to admit that things had started to get somewhat exciting this past week. No, exciting wasn't the right word, crazy sounded much more accurate. Ever since he had gone to London on Monday and hadn't returned until Tuesday noon, Father had been behaving oddly. Draco would have assumed it had been due to all the work he'd been occupied with lately, if not for today's lunch.

The moment Father had entered the dining hall with an absent, pensive expression on his face, Draco had known something had been off. And Father had proven him right merely ten minutes later. First, he'd gripped his fork so strongly that his knuckles had turned white and began stabbing at his quails rather viciously. Then he stopped in mid-stab turning his wide disbelieving eyes to Draco and stared, then muttered "bloody thirteen-year-old" incredulously and stared on for what had seemed like ages before returning to his stabbing. He'd gone on trying to kill the already dead birds on his plate until Mother had put an end to it suggesting that Father should perhaps have a drink in his study.

After that baffling experience, Draco had retired to his room where he'd contemplated the consequences of Father going mad. It had been only half an hour later that his door had been flung open and on the doorstep, there had stood Severus looking like he had made the most vital potions discovery of the millennium and had been trying not to let it show on his face - in vain. Draco had never seen his godfather glowing - the man had seemed as if he had been reborn or something... And wasn't it Thursday? Shouldn't he be locked in his lab from dawn to dusk? Severus did research work on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays and was not to be disturbed - everyone knew that, right?

Severus had demanded Draco to give him all his textbooks. Draco had obeyed. An excited Severus was a dangerous Severus - however good his mood might seem. The Potions Master then proceeded to plunder half of the Malfoy Library and disappear just as abruptly as he'd come. When Draco had asked Mother what all that had been about, she'd given him a sympathetic smile and the weirdest of responses:

"When the army of Hogwarts house-elves storms the Manor, tell Dobby to surrender, would you darling?"

It was not like Mother to talk in riddles or say meaningless things like that. Draco suspected she had known the reason behind the men's antics all along and simply hadn't wanted to tell him. Therefore, he had spent the rest of the afternoon on the terrace, sulking. Because whatever was happening, nobody apparently wished for Draco to understand. Well, he didn't need them - he could be bored alone just fine.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

The fire was cracking contentedly in the hearth, chasing away the subtle chill that came with the night even in the middle of summer. Staring into the depths of the amber liquid, Lucius doubted he had ever been more disgusted with a glass of brandy in his life. One night. One bloody night was all Harry Potter had needed to turn his life upside down. One bloody night and a bottle of booze.

_"Let's say I owe you one."_

"Yes, Potter. Let's," he hissed menacingly, the brandy slopping from the glass on his precious walnut parquet floor as he flailed his hands in a melodramatic gesture.

Sinking back in the brown chesterfield he continued in his tirade heedless of the alcohol soaking his sleeve:

"Let's say you owe me two months' worth of diplomatic negotiations with sneaky, annoying politicians from all over Europe, stinking, scruffy scum of London's underworld and those damned bloodsuckers. Let's say you owe me the endless minutes under the Cruciatus. Let's say you owe me the position I have strived for from the moment I'd met him and had been so close to getting until you chose to FUCK IT UP," Lucius roared, the glass in his hand probably pondering whether it should end its suffering, give in to his death grip and shatter to pieces.

"Let's say you owe me a safe home for my wife and son," he whispered as an afterthought, stood, walked up to the fireplace and poured the rest of the brandy into the blazing flames relishing their outraged sizzling.

"Dobby," he called curtly. He desperately needed something cowering at his feet, so that he could kick it, watch its eyes fill with hurt and incomprehension and imagine they were verdant green and beautiful.

"How can Dobby serve Master?" the elf squeaked and Lucius didn't bother to tear his eyes from the fire to look at it.

"Clean it," he ordered, his voice low and icy, waving his hand in the general direction of the puddle of brandy.

Finally turning around, he watched the filthy creature scuttle hastily across the room, fall to its knees and start wiping up the liquid with an immaculately white tea towel. Lucius walked up to the elf and stared down at it as it continued to wipe the floor mechanically, enjoying the way its hands began to tremble, the tremors growing in intensity the longer he stood there unmoving. When there was no more brandy to clean the creature fixed its fearful but resigned bulging green eyes - which were too pale for his liking - on Lucius and squeaked in a annoyingly strangled, high-pitched voice:

"What else can Dobby do for Master?"

Before Lucius could decide whether it would be more satisfying to kick the thing while it faced him or to wait until it ceased to anticipate the blow and turned its back to him, the fire in the hearth flared green. In the next second the imposing figure of Severus Snape stepped out of the flames, his grey coat billowing behind him for a moment as the fire changed to its normal colour and died down. The man had a chilling air about him and Lucius could tell at a glance that Severus was in a very foul mood. It was more a reawakened, long forgotten habit than anything else that made Lucius head for the small bar near the wall across from the hearth, put his glass on the polished ebony, take out another snifter and start pouring the brandy.

"Not for me, Lucius. I don't drink," Severus informed, his tone sullen.

Lucius gave him a questioning look over his shoulder but Severus only shrugged before crossing the room to take a seat in the brown chesterfield opposite Lucius' without paying further attention to the blond observing the house-elf as it dusted the bookshelves instead. Strange, Severus had never refused a drink before. It made Lucius wake up to the fact that the last time Severus had come to see him had been over a decade ago. He had visited Draco, yes, but only talked to Lucius when one of them had needed something from the other and those conversations had been brief, strictly to the point and got over with mostly in the hallways or alternatively the Floo. Lucius corked the bottle, took his glass and went to sit in his armchair. Once he made himself comfortable, he quirked an eyebrow at Severus expectantly.

"He told me to remind you he expects your letter by the end of the week," Severus said matter-of-factly. When there were no signs of a reply coming from Lucius, he frowned and continued sounding even more annoyed than before: "he also told me to assure you that, I quote, to whatever sulky pain in the ass you temporarily turn into, it won't change anything about the fact that it was you who opened the door to the wizarding world for him and if he ever feels the need to meddle with the Death Eater hierarchy, it should end up with you going up, not down."

Lucius snorted and sipped at his brandy. Yes, it sounded like something the boy would say. Deep down, Lucius had known all along that it hadn't been Harry's intention to get him in trouble. Yet, he had and Lucius would have to bear the consequences - which were bound to be unpleasant. Even though the boy now had some say in the Dark Lord's decisions, Lucius doubted it would keep his master from punishing him severely. Because, as Harry had pointed out, it had been Lucius, who had made it possible for the boy to enter the wizarding world in the first place. He had no illusions about the Dark Lord actually enjoying being restricted by the Unbreakable Vow - or being outsmarted for that matter - and since he couldn't harm Harry, for him to wreak his anger on Lucius was a very likely outcome. The boy was the sole reason why Lucius' effort to stay in the Dark Lord's good graces and eventually become his right-hand man had been all for naught.

Having settled on staying mad at Potter for the time being, Lucius turned his gaze from the carved ebony coffee table to Severus in silent question. Anything else from the boy?

Severus closed his eyes as if to reign in his temper and it seemed the words he was about to say tasted sour on his tongue.

"I am also supposed to tell you you're cute when you're drunk," he muttered wryly audibly gritting his teeth and looking anywhere but at the now fuming blond before him.

It was then that Lucius' glass chose to end its suffering and cracked under the pressure his fingers exerted on it. While Dobby hurried to clean the fresh mess on the walnut parquet floor, Severus gave Lucius an unimpressed look before flicking his wand at his hand healing the bloody gashes where glass penetrated skin.

That brat had the nerve to remind him of that...incident? Potter had outplayed the Dark Lord, Lucius had long since refused to feel ashamed because the same thing had happened to him. Nevertheless, the sexual part of their encounter remained touchy however hard Lucius tried to deal with it. And no, it didn't sit well with him that Potter was the same age as his son. But to humiliate or offend him probably wasn't the effect Potter had been going for. From a detached point of view, the message was quite clear. _You have a wife and I have dirt on you that she would find interesting. Don't do anything you could regret._ It was Lucius' turn to grit his teeth.

"Are you his owl now," he snapped massaging his freshly healed palm.

Lucius' rage seemed to cool Severus' down because his expression turned unimpressed again as he replied:

"He asked for my help and I agreed to grant it."

"That is exactly what I did and as you can see, it doesn't pay off well," Lucius retorted acidly.

"No, I can't see," Severus said drily. "You gained guaranteed safety from death and permanent injury by the hand of our Lord in return. Is that not enough for you?"

"It is not when I should be the one to get the credit-" Lucius started to explain but was soon interrupted by an indignant Severus.

"The credit?! Try thinking before you speak, Lucius, it would do you good. Merlin! What credit?! You mean the credit for gaining enough of the Dark Lord's respect to be able to _influence_ him? For the changes that are bound to come? Or perhaps for the hope that I now feel? I don't think you would want the credit for any of those things - I don't even think you could bear it. That credit is Harry's and Harry's alone."

Lucius found himself taken aback by the passion and true belief behind those words. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Severus defend someone so fervently - it had had to be before the end of the War if not earlier. In that moment, Lucius was sure Severus would not take it well if he tried to make him understand just what credit he'd meant. This Severus, somehow reunited with his ideals and hopes for the wizarding world, would not appreciate Lucius' purely selfish goals. No, he would have to find another way how to go about this.

"He will punish us both for letting this happen, you know he will," Lucius remarked in a resigned tone hoping to remind Severus exactly what price they would pay for Potter's stunt.

If he had been indignant before, Severus had now turned murderous. Having taken a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down, the man spoke in a low, deadly calm voice:

"I believe I can safely say neither of us will occupy the forefront of his mind for the next couple of weeks if not longer - and by then his ire will have grown old and weak."

"And how can you _safely say_ something like that?" inquired Lucius sceptically. Seriously, Severus dared to pretend he could foresee the Dark Lord's actions? Furthermore, his thoughts? He should know Lucius in particular wouldn't fall for that.

"Did you not see the way he looked at him?" Severus asked and for a moment, he seamed ready to tear someone's head off. Fortunately, Lucius knew him well enough not to take it personally and didn't even go for his wand - as he no doubt would, were he any less familiar with Severus' temper. When Lucius didn't reply immediately, Severus answered himself: "You probably wouldn't. Too busy worrying about our own hide were we?" he inquired snidely and then hurried to stop any response Lucius could give in his very peculiar, sardonic tone: "Please, don't answer that."

For some reason, Lucius felt a compulsive urge to laugh. Perhaps, he was indeed going mad - as his wife and son now probably believed after his momentary loss of composure at lunch. Yet, he felt quite sane. And relieved. It had been a _very_ long time ago when he'd last experienced a display of Severus' idiosyncratic sense of humour. It was most refreshing.

"When was the last time we talked like this?" he queried instead of giving in to his body's inexplicable impulses.

"Thirteen years ago," Severus replied a little too quickly.

"No wonder then," Lucius said absently and when he caught Severus' questioning gaze he elaborated: "No wonder I have forgotten how obnoxiously blunt you could get."

At that Severus smirked - in a way Lucius remembered only because they had been so close back then. If he'd ever had anyone he could, as an adult, call a friend he'd say it had been Severus - he had made him Draco's godfather for a reason. Then, his brain chose to remind him exactly why Severus had paid him a visit today, after more than a decade of isolation. And Lucius thought that just maybe, the presence of one Harry Potter in his life wouldn't be so unprofitable after all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Someone Sleepy, smoking, language

The sun had risen but thirty minutes ago, its rays still shy and tentative, giving the sky an indecisive shade of grey. This was what he called an ungodly hour. Busy Thursday number two - his mind had treacherously started to actually use the term at some point in the past week - found Severus turning on the spot with a crimson red paper cup capped with a crimson red plastic lid in his hand, and disappearing just outside the Hogwarts wards, leaving only thick white morning fog and an echo of a loud crack behind.

A fraction of a second after he materialised in the familiar, shabbily furnished, elongated room currently illuminated only by a tiny ball of light hovering in mid-air near the opposite wall, a strange occurrence that not many could say they had witnessed, took place. Severus Snape yawned.

"Got the coffee?" asked a soft voice.

Severus had to squint his eyes to make out the boy. He was sitting on the bed to Severus' right, propped up against the far wall, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles sporting a pair of filthy white trainers - the clean bed sheets underneath bringing out the dirt. His hair was even messier than Severus recalled – if such a thing was humanly possible – he had his nose buried in a book, his right hand held out expectantly.

Managing not to roll his eyes only due to the fact that it took him enough effort to merely keep them open, he walked up to the boy and placed the cup into the outstretched hand, careful not to spill its hot content in the process. Harry first lowered what Severus now recognised as _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ into his lap to examine the cup appreciatively, then took an experimental sip and finally turned his attention to Severus who was still naively waiting for a 'good morning'.

"Can I keep you?" the boy asked mischievously.

"I am _not_ your secretary," Severus informed sharply - or so he liked to believe - sitting down - as gracefully as his drowsiness allowed him - on the hard wooden chair. Was he supposed to be thinking about something? Hopefully not.

"Perhaps you should consider a change of profession then. Tell me. Which activity do you regard as more tormenting, trying to keep me quiet and attentive for hours or bringing me coffee?" inquired the boy innocently and as he was taking a breath to continue in his babbling, Severus decided he didn't like chipper people.

"Please, do not elaborate - it's way too early in the morning for your pearls of wisdom," he slurred, much to his dismay - and Harry's amusement. He watched the brat fight a losing battle with his mirth until he came to the inevitable conclusion - that he currently lacked the energy to throw a proper fit. Then, he noticed the dark circles under Harry's eyes and before his brain could process the information, it found its way out of his mouth: "You look awful."

"And that's why we are meeting neither Tom nor the press today," Harry replied sipping at his coffee contentedly, not batting an eyelid at the insulting comment.

"That I'm not entirely awake yet - which is only natural at this hour - doesn't mean I'm stupid," Severus snarled indignantly feeling some of the sleepy haze in his head dissipate, at last.

They had determined the 'Busy Thursday System' - as Harry had stubbornly insisted on calling it - a week ago, he remembered all too well. Every important event and meeting the boy would have to go through before he went to Hogwarts had already been planed out - so he obviously hadn't decided upon their programme for today according to his present appearance. What made Severus wake up completely though, was the notion that Harry would mind the Dark Lord seeing him while he didn't look his best - which was still much better than most of the population could ever hope for but that was not the point. The point was-

"Are you sharp?" Harry asked and the smirk tugging at his lips was all Severus needed to see to realize that he had once again been caught off guard by the boy's subtle ways of putting thoughts into one's head. "Good. Because I need some explanations," Harry announced, his tone leaving no room for argument - and seeing that he had lost all traces of his ever-present playfulness, Severus couldn't but hope there would be no reason for him to argue.

He had learnt many things about Harry Potter last Thursday. Certainly not all there was to know about him - Severus doubted there was or ever would be a man able to gain so much of the boy's trust for him to give out all his secrets. There were too many that could become too dangerous in the wrong hands. Harry had told Severus enough for him to understand that - supposing what the boy had told him hadn't been merely an attempt to make Severus fear him. He didn't think that was the case, though he couldn't be absolutely sure. Because - as much as the comparison pained him - he had as big a chance to see through Harry's lie as he had to uncover one of the Dark Lord's.

In the aftermath of the boy's triumph over the wizard - a part of him still wasn't quite ready to give up the theory that he had somehow been drugged - he couldn't imagine anything going wrong. Yet there were _so many_ things that could turn out to be disastrous - starting with Harry himself. When one thought about it... Was there a thing about the boy that _couldn't_ blow up in everyone's face? He was an immensely powerful, brilliant master manipulator, an extremely convincing actor and liar seemingly without a weakness to be used as leverage against him, an adored hero of the Light with the political forces of the Dark at his call... For all Severus knew, he could be dealing with a future tyrant.

Still, in every respect, Harry seemed strong enough. Strong enough to resist the lure of abusing the power he possessed or could easily claim. Strong enough to stay true to himself. Or maybe strong wasn't the right word - Severus varied between sensible and calculating. Because wise was a disturbing expression to use when describing a thirteen-year-old boy. However, as much as he would have liked to think about him as Lily's sweet child, Severus had long since lost any pretext for that illusion. When he had agreed to help Harry last Thursday, he had pledged himself to a young man he had come to have faith in, not to Lily's son in need of his protection.

Among other things he had learnt that Harry was perfectly aware that success didn't fall into one's lap, that one had to work to achieve their goals - and Severus had chosen not to point out that if there had ever been a wizard to whom that rule didn't apply, it was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had probably already come to realize that anyway. It had also become quite clear that despite his inclination towards making light of even the gravest of issues, there were matters that the boy took very seriously - such as liberty, tolerance, impartiality, justice, and literature - although he had his own, peculiar views on them. Now, considering what the boy had been reading, Severus suspected he knew what kind of explanations Harry sought after - and braced himself for the coming tirade.

"Have you read this?" the boy inquired simply, laying his hand on the book, his intense green gaze studying Severus' face speculatively. So, maybe tirade wouldn't be happening. If Harry was angry or upset, Severus would have to congratulate him on managing to hide the emotions so well. But he didn't seem to be pretending anything. He appeared quite genuinely disappointed.

When Severus nodded, Harry went on, his tone calm and emotionless, his stare fairly unnerving:

"I take it, this book is intended for the general public?" he again waited for Severus' nod. "Being well aware that history is written by the victors I can tell that certain information in the publication are twisted, exaggerated, blown out of proportion or intentionally made to appear unimportant for the sake of flattering the Light. But they couldn't just pull the entire ideology out of a hat - as likely as that sounds in this particular..." he trailed off, noting Severus' confused expression. "Never mind. You get my point," he concluded flatly, turning his attention to his coffee and Severus had to supress a sigh of relief as that piercing gaze finally left his face - though the fact that Harry hadn't embraced the opportunity to poke fun at him because he'd failed to understand yet another muggle saying, was just as unsettling.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked plainly, hoping to somehow miraculously avoid explaining the issue - no outsider to the wizarding world could possibly understand. He would prefer to leave the arduous job to the Dark Lord - the wizard had supposedly been the one to come up with the whole thing in the first place, after all. Besides, Harry had insisted that Severus let go of what had happened twelve years ago - as unfeasible as it had appeared at first. He didn't have to justify his choices to the boy.

"The question isn't what I want you to say. It is what _you_ have to say about the matter," Harry said coldly, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

Having put the empty cup on the small rickety table he stood up, letting _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ land on the linoleum with a thump that seemed to resonate in the tense silence. For a moment, the boy stared out of the tiny window over Severus' head at the slowly brightening sky outside, then closed his eyes and let his Office appear around them. As Harry took his seat in the crimson armchair, Severus felt a tingly wave of magic wash over his senses and knew the conversation was about to get sensitive. So tirade might be happening after all.

"Or should I assume that Mr Born-to-Agitate there," Harry waved his hand to the book lying on the white oak floor, "got it right?" he challenged, his voice still cold and his expression perfectly dispassionate though Severus suspected there was hot anger boiling underneath the mask of composure. Harry had probably spent a couple of days learning to cope with the newly gained knowledge - and Severus was glad he hadn't been present for the initial reaction. Yet somehow, he had now managed to kick into the hornet's nest. Oh, this was bound to be one of the few chances Severus would ever get to see the boy out of control. He was most curious - disregarding the worrisome actuality that should Harry _really_ lose control...well, Dumbledore would have a hard time finding a decent Potions Master at such short notice.

To his great surprise, Harry, who had been sizing him up for the last few seconds, chuckled.

"You think I'm about to kick up a fuss?" he queried with a strange smile, his previously icy demeanour gone without a trace. Severus nearly shivered as he realized of whom these sudden mood swings reminded him.

"I won't claim I haven't," he admitted somewhat cautiously. Yet the boy didn't seem to be paying attention to him anymore - rummaging in a drawer of the black writing desk and smirking triumphantly when he found the searched for pack of cigarettes.

"I probably would if I had a proper reason to be angry at you," Harry said offhandedly sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it with a flick of his fingers. Flinging his legs across one armrest and using his free hand as a pillow on the other, he continued, directing his words at the ceiling rather than Severus: "But to be honest with you, as good as a nice rant would undoubtedly feel, I've known you for a week, Severus. It's none of my business what excuse for a shampoo you use, how many friends you have...or what prejudiced asshole you choose to bow to," he stated matter-of-factly tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he blew out a bluish puff.

Severus watched the boy smoke self-indulgently, momentarily stunned by how much that little speech had stung. Last Thursday Harry had made him promise that he would try to stop blaming himself for what had happened to the boy's parents. Severus had tried - and thought the best way to go about it would be to erase the debt he had felt obligated to settle up with Harry. Now, he was reminded that the belief that he didn't owe the boy anything didn't make him immune to his judgement. Apparently, he had forgotten with whom he had been dealing. As much as he would like to deny it, what Harry Potter - Lily's son, the charming, witty young man smart enough to outplay the Dark Lord - thought about him, mattered to Severus. He had never expected to be hurt by something as petty as a show of disinterest. Yet, here he was.

In comparison to the effort the boy had put into making Severus' world a better place a week ago, the blatant display of unconcern felt like a cold shower. On Busy Thursday number one, he had been assigned the task of visiting Lucius and Avery, and even writing letters to Rabastan and Mulciber - for somewhat feeble reasons that Harry had quite obviously made up on the spot for the sole purpose of forcing Severus to contact his former friends. The transparent ploy had made the word _endearing_ emerge from the depths of Severus' unused vocabulary once again. However, what he hadn't found endearing at all had been the brat's insinuation that he should perhaps consider washing his hair from time to time. Right now, even that stupid comment seemed more agreeable than the cold shoulder he was being given.

Pinching the bridge of his nose Severus addressed the boy - trying hard to ignore the disturbing things the lad was currently doing with his mouth presumably in attempt to produce smoke rings.

"It is a very complex issue," Severus began, then paused to consider the best way to approach the topic.

"Oh, is it? Why didn't I think of that?" inquired Harry mock quizzically before returning to his oral gymnastics. It took all Severus' self-control not to give in to the sudden overwhelming urge to throttle the insolent whelp.

Having heaved a deep sigh he went on:

"Without a first-hand experience I doubt you could fully understand just how desperately the present political system needs reformation, how difficult it is to gain and maintain reliable allies-"

"So basically, you've refrained from giving me an explanation because you've doubted I could understand the matter on my own? Hmm. Clever. Very clever. Please, tell me you are still too drowsy to think straight because I don't like the alternative," Harry said drily squirming in his seat to face Severus while keeping his position horizontal. Having accomplished his goal he conjured a crimson red ashtray on the floor in front of the armchair and reached down to stub out the now almost non-existent cigarette. He then drew his knees to his chest and fixed his huge, expectant eyes on Severus resembling the child that he should be more then ever.

"The alternative?" Severus repeated questioningly, choosing to overlook the sarcasm.

Harry blinked once, twice, then sighed, and spoke:

"Supposing you are not being purposefully difficult, there is only one logical reasons why you would be so stubbornly reluctant to pursue the topic. You obviously find the subject uncomfortable to talk about. Having eliminated all the improbable factors that could spark such feelings, we are left with guilt, shame, maybe fear of my reaction. Meaning there is no explanation with the potential to appease my conscience - or yours - that you can give me. You say it is impossible for me to understand the necessity of such extreme measures given that I haven't experienced the situation. Well, duh. I don't think you understand it either," he said sounding slightly bored but Severus was sure that for a moment, there was something in those too familiar, green orbs - a strange mixture of tiredness, disillusion and determination. He could agree with the Dark Lord on one thing - he would love to see what was going on in that brilliant mind.

Apparently, there was no escaping Harry's flawless reasoning. He should be probably grateful for that. Severus had to admit to himself that it had been most stupid of him to try to avoid discussing the issue since, considering Harry's stance, such approach could only result in the boy scorning him. Harry could go without knowing what Severus' view of the Dark Lord's cause was. It was Severus who needed the boy to know.

"You are right. I don't understand it and as I told you a week ago, I find some of the ideals of the Dark rather extreme. I don't see the thought of wiping out all Muggle-borns as ground-breaking, morally acceptable or feasible. There is, however, the danger of our society being discovered and magical children in muggle families _do_ serve to increase the risk significantly," he paused trying to determine the boy's reaction from his face and posture - and if not for his eyes blinking open the moment he stopped talking, startlingly alert, Severus would have thought that Harry had fallen asleep.

Seeing his hesitation Harry gave an encouraging nod and Severus continued: "The government is corrupt and doesn't reflect the needs of the people at all. Most of the laws were written or modified by that same corrupt and inconsiderate government. Reformation is necessary but I don't think a caste system based on the amount of magical blood in one's veins is a way to go. Nor do I think that torture and killing is the best means to reach reform. The oppression of Dark creatures and wizards with a Dark inclination is outrageous and I consider every step taken against that nonsensical stereotype to be righteous," Severus fell silent again, contemplating what else he had to say to the matter.

"I see," Harry's thoughtful voice interrupted his musings. "So, in a nutshell, you support the Dark because you want a change and there is no other political party or movement with enough power and influence to pose a real threat to the Light - to make a difference. And there are certain aspects of the Dark that make you feel ashamed of supporting it. Hasn't it occurred to you that once the Dark wins and enforces its ideals on the wizarding world, you will be just as dissatisfied with them as you are now? No. No need to answer that," Harry stopped Severus as he was preparing to defend his intelligence. "Tom can be...irresistibly charming - is that the way you put it?" Harry chuckled, for some inexplicable reason finding the notion amusing.

Severus didn't know what to say to that. He didn't take any pleasure in being read like an open book. Perhaps it would be for the best if he started getting used to it.

"Thank you for telling me. I know I can count on your opinion to be objective," the boy said appreciatively, sitting up and stretching himself unashamedly. "It wasn't that hard, was it?" he muttered, bending down to pick up the ashtray and putting it on the black writing desk.

He stood and headed for the seventh row between the shelves speaking to Severus over his shoulder sounding mildly amused:

"Seriously. Emotional blackmail? I never thought _you_ would make me stoop so low, Severus."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> SO SORRY for posting chapter 15 instead of this one! Corrected now.

"Ouch!"

The startled shriek came from the murk of the aisle between the bookshelves soon followed by a perplexed-looking Harry Potter.

"What the hell was that?!"

"A Stinging Hex," Severus informed, barely managing to keep his tone unaffected by the overwhelming surge of satisfaction. Oh, that felt good.

Harry brought his rapidly swelling hand closer to his face and began to study it with an unnervingly academic sort of fascination. Well, that wasn't exactly the effect Severus had been going for. The boy frowned at the limb that was now twice its normal size for a while before smirking triumphantly, giving it a gentle prod with his index finger, and watching it reassume its original shape.

"Did you have any particular reason for hexing my hand?" Harry then inquired curiously making Severus feel as though he had just become the deranged subject of some psychological test. Trust Potter to thwart his plan for retaliation.

And what a thoroughly thought out plan it was - masterfully designed to the smallest detail during the fraction of a second it had taken Severus to draw his wand. _Mature,_ observed the irritating voice in mock appreciation.

"You were getting unbearably annoying," he replied sullenly.

The brat cocked his head to one side and stared pensively at Severus, who stubbornly refused to fidget under the scrutiny, for what seemed like ages.

"Suppose I was," he concluded in the end and as if determined to drive Severus' eyebrows even higher he proceeded to say: "Sorry," not sounding exactly apologetic but still surprisingly honest. Evidently considering the matter dealt with he then turned his back to the astounded Potions Master and disappeared between the shelves again.

Okay...

That had been unexpected.

Although when one thought about it, if Harry's objective view of the world was anything to go by, the boy was capable of perfectly rational judgement - apparently even of his own behaviour. So what had it been that had made him act so...bitchy? Presuming he actually needed a motive other than the pleasure he generally took in driving people up the wall. Perhaps, he was tired - he did look like he could use a good night's sleep. On the other hand, it had been Harry who had insisted on their meeting 'at 6 AM sharp' saying he was accustomed to rising early. Maybe Severus had been right and the boy still had trouble accepting the truth about the Dark Lord's cause - it would be understandable. Whatever the reason, it was apparently weighing on Harry's mind - and if there ever had been a day demanding the boy's undivided attention, it was today.

"Do you want to tell me what is bothering you?" Severus inquired feeling slightly ill at ease. He would never have anticipated hearing those words coming out of his own mouth - directed at anyone even vaguely resembling an adolescent on top of that.

"A rather alarming theory of mine had been bothering me but you proved it wrong," was the somewhat absent answer.

There was a long silence - serving to remind Severus exactly why he deemed his patience priceless - then a resigned sigh, after which Harry reluctantly elaborated:

"Let's say your prospects are quite different when you expect dealing with a bunch of fanatics that act like fanatics mostly because they are under the influence of a fanatic, and when said bunch of fanatics are fanatics all on their own."

It took Severus a while to make sense of all the fanatics in one sentence. When he did, he was amazed that Harry of all people could actually come to such a remarkably naïve conclusion.

"If you think the Death Eaters are in fact innocent dupes of peaceable nature led astray by the bad, bad Dark Lord-"

A pack of cigarettes flew across the room missing Severus' nose by mere inches, effectively silencing him.

"No, that's not it," said Harry placidly emerging from the aisle and leaning against one of the shelves. "If the Death Eaters - thoroughly depraved as you undoubtedly are - all happened to hold the exact same values summarized in the Dark Lord's cause, it would be very difficult to find a way to change the workings of the Dark," he continued sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it with a snap of his fingers. "However," he blew out the smoke and went on toying with the flip-up top of the pack absent-mindedly,"when there is a strong central influence, it is only that influence that needs to be modified for the whole Dark sect to change. In other words, I feared you lot actually believed in what the Dark stood for. Turns out you merely believe in Tom - which makes things a lot easier for me."

"So you are saying we are all suggestible idiots, who blindly follow the Dark Lord wherever he leads us?"

Severus couldn't quite decide, whether he wished Harry to believe that or not. On the one hand, he had just called himself a suggestible idiot. On the other, in all honesty, it was the truth - he wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't.

"To some extent, yes. I certainly hope so," the boy grinned impishly before crossing the room and flopping down into his crimson leather armchair, the cigarette stuck between two fingers of his right hand hanging over one of the armrests, the challenging look in his eyes clearly asking _'and what are you going to do about it?'._

_What, indeed._ It did strike him as odd that at first, Harry, while having serious objections of his own, hadn't been at all thrilled by the idea of Severus having reservations about the Dark Lord's cause. Harry had literally said that he didn't like the alternative - the alternative being Severus' dissatisfaction with the ideals of the Dark. What was he missing? The boy's explanation fitted to some degree but not completely. He was blatantly contradicting himself - and seemed infuriatingly okay with it. Yet at the moment, the question wasn't what Harry's true motives were. The question was whether Severus wanted to know. All these cryptic ploys and wordplays were really getting-

"There is always an alternative," the boy began suddenly. "There may be six, seven, fifty or two thousand and four of them, however improbable they might seem. Depends only on the extent of the observer's imagination - and sometimes on the complexity of the problem, of course," stated Harry gravely, as if his words contained wisdom Severus had been waiting to hear his whole life.

There is only so much aggravation a man can stand before 7 AM.

"We currently find ourselves in London," Severus informed in turn. "There are over two million wizards and nearly eight million muggles in London - meaning there are approximately ten million people in the eighteen-mile radius you can go patronize instead of me," he deadpanned and as an afterthought, he added snidely: "And for humanity's sake, do choose a deaf one."

A slight twitch of the brat's lips was all the warning Severus got before laughter took over. He folded his hands in his lap, sighed, and waited.

"Impressive," Harry appreciated once he calmed down enough to speak. "You sure know your geography, Severus," he stated, chuckling quietly.

"Well, seeing Wonder Boy talk the Dark Lord down using demographic statistics does things to you," Severus smirked.

"I don't believe you enjoyed the consequences back then. But that comes with the job, doesn't it?" the boy said innocently. And there was a strange glint in his eyes. Anticipation, curiosity, hope?

_No!_ Harry did _not_ enjoy torture. Nor did he approve of it. That would be just _wrong_ \- and Severus didn't care if that was merely his Lily-loving part talking. There had to be something he was missing.

_"There is always an alternative...however improbable..."_

Oh, really?!

"That's ludicrous!" Severus thought out loud. "Why would a political party show itself as totalitarian, violent, and oppressive if it weren't? What could a man gain by making people believe he was a homicidal sadistic megalomaniac?" he questioned incredulously.

"That's what I was hoping you'd tell me," Harry admitted serenely. "But you seem to be quite clueless, which means-"

"Which means there is no noble mysterious ulterior motive to the Dark movement," Severus interrupted vehemently, his patience supply running out.

"Wrong. That only means there's no ulterior motive the Death Eaters know of," Harry countered.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Stop deluding yourself!" exclaimed Severus, disbelieving. "He is brilliant and charming and powerful but none of that makes him a good person."

It felt utterly absurd that he, Severus Snape, was really doing this, persuading Harry Potter that yes, the Dark Lord _was_ cruel and far from virtuous. Why couldn't Harry see? What made him blind to what was right in front of him when in any other case he saw behind the corner?

"Sais the man who voluntarily became one of his followers," the boy stated calmly, the cigarette between his fingers slowly burning out unnoticed.

"Yes," Severus stressed, getting desperate. "I was weak. I let myself be weak for all these years, because until recently, he was our best chance. I don't trust him but I do believe in him. Still, you're out of your mind if you think I'll let you do the same. Because he isn't _your_ best chance and you know it."

Something in Harry's eyes softened as the boy watched him speak. When Severus finished, he stood, went to stub out the cigarette in the red ashtray on the writing desk, and stayed there for a long moment with his back turned to the Potions Master.

"Don't you want him to be a good person?" he said finally, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Was this Severus' answer? Was this what the whole charade had been about? That Harry _wanted_ the Dark Lord to be something he wasn't because...what? It would make their alliance bearable for him? It would make working with him easier on the boy's conscience? Or was Harry truly foolish enough to idealize his parents' murderer?

"I've seen too much to even consider that a possibility," said Severus somewhat resignedly.

"And I will keep that in mind," Harry assured, turning to look at him, his eyes kind and understanding. "However, I can't _not_ consider it a possibility until I hear Tom's side of the story," he concluded resolutely.

"I still think you are deluding yourself," Severus couldn't refrain from remarking.

"I do consider that a possibility as well," Harry gave him a strange smile before letting go of the desk he had been leaning against, and heading for the bookshelves again.

"Severus?" the boy uttered once he was out of the Potions Master's field of vision.

"Hmm," Severus responded noncommittally not bothering to turn around in his seat.

"You are not weak," said Harry simply, returning to rummaging through the books - or whatever it was that he had been doing - the next second.

Severus _did_ know that. Yet somehow, it felt good to hear the brat say it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Harry Potter and the Plastic Bag, Meet Master Metaphorist

In a different, softer way than youth did, old age made you susceptible to the misleading impression that you've seen it all, and so you understand it all, and so nothing can possibly surprise you. To accept and go along with that feeling was a fundamental mistake - yet an unavoidable one, at times, since old age made you repeatedly forget the important parts of your precious home-made philosophy. Old age also caused you to wake up early enough to see the sun rise and wonder how it was possible that the yellow fuzzy ball didn't seem to age and was still the same yellow fuzzy ball as the one you used to squint into when you had been a child. Except he never used to squint into the sun as a child - he had been too smart for that. Too smart to squint into the sun and stupid enough to run with a Dark Lord in the making. The world was just silly like that - or he was just silly like that. Take your pick.

With a sigh, Albus Dumbledore turned away from the arched window and went to sit in the plush high back chair at his desk. Stroking his long white beard in a thoughtful manner, he watched the tiny greenish puffs of smoke rise towards the crystal chandelier every few seconds. He had always found his instruments calming, with all their ticking and clicking and puffing - it came across as steady, predictable, almost trustworthy one would say. Without rush, without hesitation those silver gadgets sliced the bland mass of time into something precise, humanly perceivable, intelligible even. In the long run, it was the same as what death did - giving a close to something quite pointless in nature and making it matter while at it. Taking existence and turning it into life. He sighed again.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

It was a quiet morning in Malfoy Manor – too early for the peacocks to screech, too early for Draco to be sulking about, for Narcissa to fuss over him, for Lucius to be sentient enough to sulk, pity himself, and drink, too early even for Dobby to cook breakfast. A single soul – and it was not even a whole one – in the vast Malfoy grounds was up and very much awake. But that soul, despite currently driving its considerable brain activity to unprecedented highs, wouldn't notice if garden gnomes started raining out of the sky, plummeting to the ground at a killer speed. Too busy searching a thin grey book for life-changing messages and hidden truths.

It was not garden gnomes that collapsed in a heap on the pristinely clean, fluffy carpet of the White Parlour.

Rustle. Rustle. Crack. Rustle. Crack.

"I tell you, it's not getting any better. My turn from next time on," grunted the lower part of the bundle of limbs testily. "Now, get off me, fatso. I think you've just broken all of my ribs."

Rustle.

"Who are you calling fatso? Watch where you put your bony elbows, brat. You were an inch away from castrating me there," Severus mumbled, wriggling to get comfortable and make up for at least a part of his sleep deficit.

Rustle. Rustle. Crack.

"And there you have one more reason to get off me before I change my mind and get back to it," growled Harry dangerously, quite uselessly shoving at the dead weight of the Potions Master's body.

Rustle. Rustle.

Reluctantly, Severus got up, dusted off his coat and trousers, and proceeded to glare at the pesky, bossy little menace picking itself up off the floor.

"What are you glaring at _me_ for, I could apparate us just fine. But no, Mr Let-me-try-something had to give us another dose of breathing without air, choking on nothing in particular, in-ear drone strike…" the boy ranted on, lifting up the white plastic bag (Crack. Rustle.) and heading for the other double door than they had used during their last visit.

"You could always tell me how your way works, so that I wouldn't have to suffer all that each and every time I travel. You know that _the purpose of human life is to serve and to show compassion and the will to help others_ , right?" Severus quoted taking three long strides to catch up with Harry so that he could lead the way.

"Oh, is that what you were telling yourself when you swore lifetime service to a murdering psychopath?" said the boy offhandedly, tapping his index finger against his lips in a thoughtful manner. "Schweitzer," he finally decided, a bit affronted," but that was an unsourced one! That's cheating! Wait," Harry rounded on Severus narrowing his eyes suspiciously (Rustle. Rustle.), "have you been reading up on muggle religion? Trust me, you don't want to go there," there was a pause when they could hear only their footsteps echoing through the cold marble corridor. Then Harry chuckled impishly and said: " _True friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down,_ " the boy goaded sweetly, swinging the plastic bag back and forth as they walked.

Rustle. Rustle. Crack. Rustle.

"I hate to break it to you but acting as a physical cushion does not bring you any closer to being anyone's true friend. Besides, you are still severely lacking in the 'never getting in my way' department. And I have no idea who said that," Severus added while the brat just continued to swing the bag and pout for effect. "You don't want to feel the answer to your first question and yes, I have. Why ever not? I rather like the idea," he concluded honestly.

Rustle. Crack.

"Did I miss something? When did _you_ become an expert on relationships? By the way, it was Glasow, quoted in The Wall Street Journal, can't remember the date, though. And let me guess, are you particularly taken with the confess-your-sins-and-be-forgiven part?" Harry queried innocently.

Crack. Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.

In the span of the last two Thursdays, Severus had become somewhat proficient in detecting this game. Not the quoting one, that was just Harry's method of trying to familiarize him with muggle thinking. Severus liked to believe that he could now stand a fair chance against any sane human being - which, much to his chagrin, Harry Potter was _not._ But at the moment, he was sensing a different game at play. One of avoiding a topic by way of taunting the interested party out of focus. Severus would not go down without a fight.

Catching the brat's forearm in mid-swing, the Potions Master asked:

"Would you explain to me, how you apparate? What is it that you concentrate on?"

"I said I would think about it," Harry reminded calmly, as if he hadn't just been caught in the act of sneaky, purposeful distraction.

"That was a week ago," Severus remarked letting go of the boy's hand - a grave, grave mistake.

"Well, I've been reading," the brat said and proceeded to shake the bag in Severus' face meaningfully.

Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," the Potion's Master whipped his wand out of his sleeve and struck the bag with the strongest silencing charm he could muster.

Harry didn't even blink at the sudden motion and merely kept watching him with poorly hidden amusement.

Severus gave him _the look._

"Well, I _have_ been reading," Harry repeated a bit defensively.

They walked for about half a minute in blissful silence before Severus spoke.

"Is it that hard to put into words?" he asked, stopping in front of the entrance to the Library.

"The question isn't how to explain, but whether I should. I _will_ think about it, Severus," the boy said in a tone that allowed no further discussion, taking the brass handle and pushing the heavy oak door open.

Like every room in the Manor, the Malfoy Library was spacious. Not in the horizontal sense this time but in the vertical one. The wooden ceiling was so far away the room had to be taking up at least three storeys - one couldn't tell exactly, since the usual indicators were absent. There were only books within shelves upon shelves upon shelves upon more shelves. No stairs, no galleries, just four walls made out of four giant bookshelves. In the wall to their right, there were two high Gothic-style windows, and one more broad solid oak door in the opposite wall.

"How? Do you summon the books you need and go read somewhere else?" questioned Harry looking around in wonder.

"You see there, there, and there?" Severus pointed out the three sets of floating furniture. "Those are armchairs, desks, and candles, charmed in a fashion similar to brooms or flying carpets. It's not exactly legal these days. The candles are lit at night and if you want more light at any time during the day, only the house-elf can light them for you. I wouldn't try to summon anything if I were you, it's not particularly pleasant, and doesn't really work.

"How can I get these books back on their shelves then?" asked the boy, still too awed to be properly confused.

"You can't. Only the house-elf or the direct descendants of the Malfoy family and their spouses can. You see, there are only three chairs now, since there are three members of the family. Every time a Malfoy child is born, a new armchair, desk, and candle is added. Every time a Malfoy dies, one of the sets disappears," Severus explained walking to the centre of the chamber. "If a Malfoy gives you permission to use the Library, and calls their chair for you, the room accepts you as long as that Malfoy lives. What I took from here for you were mostly textbooks, and books no more than a hundred years old. Had I tried to carry out something more valuable, the room would have stopped me. There are some unique tomes on these shelves, you could find nowhere else in the world," he paused, looking at the boy for a moment before continuing: "Should the family be in danger of dying out, it would be in the interest of the whole Wizarding community to keep them safe and alive."

"Holding knowledge hostage," Harry pronounced the words as if they were the essence of bitter irony - it was a tone no child should be able to speak in. "There is nothing to invent in the field of self-preservation. Nothing somebody hasn't thought of before you," he murmured still in that strange sardonically amused voice, so quietly that the Potions Master was sure it had not been meant for his ears.

Without further ado, the boy shoved the plastic bag into Severus' arms and as if in a daze, he wandered around the room. He walked along the shelves with his hands raised but fully touching neither the wood, nor the books. He took off his filthy white trainers, his socks, and barefoot, he walked the beautiful bloodwood floor in intricate patterns. Severus had to fight the urge to look away. It felt as though he was intruding on an act so intimate it was unseemly to watch.

It soon became clear that Harry was _tasting_ the magic in everything he could get close to in the Library. Severus was suddenly overcome by the desire to _understand._ For a while, he marvelled at how light-headed he felt before he realized he had forgotten to breathe. Yes, he was probably one of the best-informed people when it came to Harry Potter but he still didn't know what the boy was made of, not really.

As he watched Harry lovingly caress thin air with his fingertips, near the corner of this ancient hall of magical knowledge, he sensed a connection that had nothing to do with Lily Evans, or the Dark Lord, or anything as lowly as the war or his guilt. It ran so deep he felt he would have to merge with the Earth to find its roots. It was primal, it was carnal, it was divine, it was sacred.

It was the first time Severus felt a brother to anther man because they shared the same life-giving energy. It was the first time Severus Snape loved another magical being because they too were magical.

"This is some strong stuff," Harry concluded, grinning, having finished his inspection.

Just like that, the moment was gone, and Severus came crashing down from his high. For a whole minute, all he could do was stare at the boy in front of him, panting. Harry didn't seem to be as effected, though his cheeks were slightly flushed.

Severus managed only a breathy "Yeah" in response.

Harry walked up to him, took the bag, and before Severus could move a finger, emptied its contents on the bloodwood floor.

"You-," the Potions Master hadn't even got to the insult when soft purple cushions bubbled into existence beneath the books before they could hit the hard surface.

"Self-triggering cushioning charm," Harry commented with a small smile, as though he had just shared some inside joke with...a charmed floor?

As the shrunken books grew back to to their normal sizes, Severus did a rough count, then another one, and then he checked once again. If not for the fact that he had already exhausted his capacity to be surprised today, he would have been surprised. In that pile, there were all the 36 books he had brought Harry the week prior. He would ask about the boy's preternatural reading skills later - since he considered his preternatural magical powers a more pressing matter.

"What did you do? I have been here a hundred times and never before..." Severus trailed off, unable to eloquently describe what had just happened.

"It's not all what you would label Dark, though some of it is," the boy informed, giving the Library one last glance - which could be, without too much imagination at work, translated as 'I'll be back' - before turning around and heading towards the exit. Severus didn't know how exactly that was supposed to answer his question but followed anyway.

"Some of it is just very, very old," Harry continued, leading the way back to the White Parlour, so that they could move on to their next errand of the day. "All I did was touch the surface and lure it forth a little bit," there was a short pause, as if he was weighing whether to say any more. In the end, he added quietly, "the place has a _presence_ to it."

"Like your Office," guessed the Potions Master.

There was a nearly imperceptible nod, and then a long silence.

"Do I assume correctly that the magic in that room is forbidden by law? That merely knowing of such a place and not reporting it could put you in Azkaban for a couple of years?" the boy asked in a casual tone, as if they were discussing the weather.

"Yes," Severus confirmed, and was once again reminded just how _wrong_ some of the Ministry regulations felt. How nonsensical, how against the _natural_ flow of things.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Old age made him susceptible to the misleading impression that he'd seen it all, and so he understood it all, and so nothing could possibly surprise him. Lately, Albus had been tempted to forget all about his precious home-made philosophy and go along with that feeling. Because he had seen this coming. Not so soon - not ever, preferably - but he had. And he thought he did understand - since he had lived through it all. Twice.

Based on the last hundred years of his experience, Albus could safely conclude that extremely powerful, highly intelligent, and hopelessly misguided young men were like comets. A rare sight in these parts, beautiful and awe-inspiring from afar, ominous when coming your way, and most damaging when they hit home. This theory had recently - within the last two decades, mind - proven to be correct to an extent he had not anticipated. True, such occurrences were few and far between but apparently, once every strange, un-round number of years - which was incredibly hard to calculate accurately - these men, just like comets, having left enough havoc and desolation in their wake the first time around already, came back for more.

Ever since one tragic event in June, Albus Dumbledore saw a foreboding flickering light on the horizon every time he looked up at the sky.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not get paid for writing this story. Please don't sue me.  
> Warning: Odd Birds

The unmistakable sound of laughter reached Dobby's ears as he prodded at the sizzling pieces of bacon in the frying pan with an overly large wooden spatula he had to hold with both hands to manipulate properly. Sail-like ears perked, he froze in mid-prod, and then shook his head, as if chasing away the auditory hallucination. It came back, though, in yet another bout of the natural, surprisingly sincere expression of amusement. The voice - Dobby had never thought that voice capable of sounding so... _human.  
_

He flopped down on the kitchen counter, let his legs dangle over the edge, spatula forgotten in the pan, and dreamy-eyed, started swinging his feet back and forth in a carefree motion. Wedging his joint hands between his bony knees, he sighed worshipfully:

"Harry Potter..."

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Growing stronger by the hour, sunshine bored relentlessly into the towers, roofs, and stone walls of the ancient castle. There wasn't even the slightest trace of wind in the stiff air, in the fresh grass, in the tree branches of the dense forest radiating cold, nor on the steady surface of the nearby lake. The calm was all-consuming, signalling the beginning of what was going to be the hottest day Scotland had seen in weeks.

Two black dots were making their way across the castle grounds, quite unaware of the sharp beady eyes observing them from above.

"...so cool!"

"Having an articulate teenage moment?"

"Careful, Severus. You wouldn't want to hurt my shaky teenage ego now of all times, would you?"

"There's nothing shaky about that big head of yours."

"Ouch! You would be surprised how much I had to doubt myself before I became as awesome as I am."

"In that case, I have three letters for you."

"Hmm?"

"Q.E.D."

There was laughter.

Fawkes beat his wings against the urge to swoop down and bask in the pure magic the smaller of the black dots was giving off. They would meet soon enough, and in a life as long as he'd had, there were few things that could justify impatience. A decade wasn't much by his standards, yet Fawkes felt as if he had been waiting for this unsuspecting fledgling for ages.

"...thirty six books in a week?"

"Not here Severus. As cool as it is, this place seems like it will make the bogeys in my nose report to Dumbledore..."

The delicious magic disappeared.

Or maybe not so unsuspecting.

"Hanky?"

More laughter.

"How gallant of you."

"Well, I would hate for you to be distracted by your own nasal mucus while dealing with the greatest wizard of our time. You do have a plan, I presume?"

"Not a plan per say..."

"Of all the moronic, Gryf-"

"It's more of a strategy."

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

At this angle, the heavy weight of the sun rays was beating straight down on his shiny scarlet tail feathers and Fawkes felt they were seconds away from catching fire. Carefully, he let himself glide to the level of the open window to the Headmaster's office. It was getting dangerously hot out here - and who would want to spend their first meeting with the Boy-Who-Lived buried under a pile of ashes?

"...if Tom's done his homework."

_"What?"_

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

A familiar trill made Albus look up from his tea and answer jovially:

"Good morning, Fawkes," he watched with a fond smile as the bird landed expertly on his golden perch.

When one lives for over a hundred years, they come to appreciate constancy - which tends to get harder and harder to find in the ever-changing world. To Albus, Fawkes was the epitome of constancy. After all, if an immortal creature had stuck around for more than sixty years, there was little reason to doubt that it would be there tomorrow.

Fawkes was the best companion Albus could ever wish for. No Phoenix would ever trade their soul for power, make Albus choose between them and his duties, or make him fall in love. Fawkes was the safest living being Albus could possibly care for.

"Easy to love the eternally good," he murmured, still following the bird with his gaze.

The eternally good chirruped in response, dipping his tail into Albus' tea nonchalantly.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

_Never tickle a sleeping dragon_ , read the motto of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Common sense - Harry could easily relate to that. To what purpose exactly would anyone tickle a dormant threat? You want it dead? Kill it. You want its attention? Poke it. You want it pissed off? Poke it in the eye. Make up your mind; to hell with tickling. Yet, apart from the common one, there was also sense of humour...

Harry was never one for getting into things that could blow up in his face. He was all for setting countless controls and treading carefully - within the bounds of his current mood, of course. That being said, in the past few weeks, he had been forced to acknowledge a rather disconcerting fact - that not every situation permitted that kind of approach. You could plot and scheme till you were blue in the face and then Tom went: 'One Albus Dumbledore seems to be in trouble,' and you were free to start pulling miraculous solutions out of your ass preferably yesterday, regardless.

He couldn't complain too much, though. Harry still held all the cards, had the playing field laid out before him with all the pieces in place while he was sitting back comfortably; the invisible observer, the undetectable lightning yet to strike. While not underestimating himself, it sure wasn't a faulty conclusion to make that he'd had a much easier time of gaining the upper hand over Voldemort than he would have had, had the conditions been even. To keep this advantage in place for a little longer, Harry hadn't let Tom go the 'Mike way' about contacting him. That would have allowed the Dark Lord too much power over the circumstances of their meeting, too much wiggle room for his own plans. Therefore, he had chosen to take him by surprise, instead - while getting himself into a situation _so_ precarious he didn't even want to think about all the possible disastrous outcomes.

Today was no different. But Harry knew better than to expect a repeat of his negotiations with Tom - which, by his standards, had been a smashing success. No, this would be much trickier. As far as his opponent knew, Harry was at his mercy - what with no connections, no money, and the legal status of a minor. Harry could blackmail and threaten - he certainly had no stellar reputation to worry about - except he also had no ground to stand on, in that regard. No amount of dirt of the highest quality thrown Dumbledore's way could ever trump what the nuisance of a man had on him. And if some less than honourable means had to be used to subdue the naughty child? Hogwarts was Vegas, what happened here stayed here, no doubt, the public getting waffle at best, complete bull if Trouble felt creative, and mum if he didn't.

Besides, it wasn't Harry's life on the line this time - it was his freedom. Needless to say, Harry much preferred it the other way around. It hadn't even crossed his mind when he had gone to see Tom but today presented a question of how much he was willing to bet on his wit. It was wholly his choice to meet with Trouble this early in the game and have the element of surprise on his side, rather than keeping a low profile and avoiding the potentially explosive confrontation for as long as he could.

It was _frighteningly_ tempting to just hole up - now, that the possibility was actually there - and banter his life away with Tom. Yes, he would be a hypocrite if he claimed becoming a consulting Dark Lord was all he had ever striven for. Still, it would be so very easy to settle for less and just pretend he had, in fact, never wanted more. Never before had Harry had such an option on the table. Never before had he had to weigh the worth of contentment against ambition - as his level of contentment had never before reached the comparable section of the scales. And all in a day's work, there it was - too much fun to pass up and seemingly sustainable enough to consider long-term. _Frightening!_

So, saving his hypocrisy for some other time - now quite sure he would need it - he marched to a place that could get a whole world of nasty. Yet strangely, with Severus by his side, it didn't appear all that bad. That was one more novelty for Harry, right there - taking comfort in another's presence. It required a special person, of course - he didn't think it would work with anyone other than Severus, at this point. The man had been doing a splendid job of keeping him distracted so far, making conversation and all... Bless him - Harry had to give credit where it was due. Still, letting his worries be soothed by neither his imagination, nor the routine process of rationalising the hell out of everything, but by a living human being with a mind of their own, was _surreal._

Harry was suddenly kicked out of his musings by an alarmingly familiar feeling. He started looking around the entrance hall they had somehow reached without him noticing.

"Is something the matter?" asked Severus carefully, concerned.

"Mr Sanderson. Can you see him? I have no idea how he managed to follow us here, though sure, the old man is nothing if not full of surprises..." he trailed off as he finally spotted the source of his confusion. "Now, this is creepy."

A scruffy, meagre man in a brown coat was sweeping and muttering under his breath morosely with his humped back turned to them, a tabby grey cat by his feet watching the end of the sweep move back and forth with bulging yellow eyes. With a few theories at ready, and still pondering which one to test first, Harry approached the oblivious man.

"Excuse me, are you mentally ill?" he enquired curiously, and immediately after the words were out of his mouth, he knew he picked the wrong one to start with. Oh well.

The man rounded on him, thin grey hair flying, sputtering in a way Harry suspected he had learnt from his pet.

"Get lost, brat, or I'll hang you by your ankles in the dungeons," the cattified humanoid spat and Harry had to restrain himself so that he wouldn't instinctively conjure a shield to keep away the spittle headed his way. Not wanting to take his eyes off the unpredictable crackpot, he walked backwards until his backside bumped into Severus. Strangely, he felt the Potions Master's body convulsing but Harry was too busy furiously wiping at his face to investigate what had gotten into his friend.

As he retreated further up the stairs, finally turning to face the way he was going, he heard a mumbled:

"...two months...filthy little beasts...not even two months...shackles..."

Well, this oddball was definitely barmy too. Still, he wasn't sure if that was the reason he felt so similar to the old man.

Having reached the first landing, Harry waited for Severus to catch up with him. When he did, the Potions Master was clutching his side and the corners of his mouth were twitching in a tell-tale sign that the man was having - discreet as it might be, though still undeniably - a laughing fit.

"Oh, just say it," sighed Harry, resigned.

"Smooth, Mr Potter," the man commented in the end, when he was sure he would be able to speak.

"Why, thank you Professor Social Butterfly," Harry returned drily.

"Well, that is undoubtedly the first time anyone has called me that. Bat of the Dungeons, yes, but Butterfly?"

"Social Moth, then. Better?"

"Much..."

It was a testimony to how well Severus had come to know him, that he never did comment on the underlying issue. Harry found it endearingly tactful.

**-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-**

Silence up the stairs. Adult and child, calm. One controlled exhalation, one bated breath. A tentative knock.

Not bothering to look up from his letter, Albus waved his wand and the door creaked open in invitation. Controlled exhalation stumbled in somewhat clumsily, bated breath followed with long, purposeful strides. Albus knew a sham when he heard one coming - and just like that, he felt half a century younger.

Pulling out his favourite pair of plush unicorn slippers from one of his desk drawers, he asked:

"Slippers, anyone?"

"Yes, please," the boy announced, wiggling his bare toes with innocent cheer.

Severus looked confused only for a moment and then, although it was not a likely gesture, Albus could still tell with certainty when the Potions Master stopped himself mid face-palm, ending up scratching his smooth-shaven chin. Catching the action as well, the boy's eyes twinkled with mirth but his face gave nothing away - a combination which spoke volumes. Familiarity, intent to conceal it, a well-controlled, almost instinctive pose easily and unwittingly broken by fond amusement.

If he felt awkward or nervous, the boy hid it masterfully as he accepted the offered shoes and put them on. Although he did fidget with his sleeve a little in the brief silence that ensued.

"You may leave us now, Severus. Mr Potter and I have much catching up to do," Albus said kindly, giving the boy a conspiratorial wink - which didn't fail to bring about an involuntary twitch of irritation.

The Potions Master nodded respectfully and without sparing the boy another glance, headed back to the door. The lad had other plans, apparently.

"If it isn't too much trouble, sir, I would prefer Professor Snape to stay," he said politely but firmly.

"And why is that?" One is much more likely to find something if they search for it - a touchy subject being no exception.

"His entertainment value is off the charts today; I would hate to miss out on anything," replied the boy with a perfectly straight face.

In Snape-speak, that clearly meant something along the lines of "at ease". Instantly, some of the ever-present tension left the man's face and posture. His wand swished through the air almost lazily as the Potions Master conjured a comfortable-looking chair by the window and proceeded to sit himself down with casual grace.

"Which end of the charts are we speaking of?" enquired the man matter-of-factly. Was Severus Snape really studying his nails for show?

"Get me a chair and I will tell you," bargained the boy, his tone balancing precariously on the the edge between propriety and flirtation.

Severus shot him a warning look but obliged. And soon, Harry Potter was lounging in a green leather armchair at a somewhat respectful distance from the Headmaster's desk yet in a distinctly disrespectful position.

"Very well," Albus allowed good-naturedly before the odd pair could resume their disturbing banter. He had to admit that Severus' newfound relaxed attitude had succeeded in throwing him off the track. "So what brings you here, my boy," he addressed the young Potter in an attempt to retake control of the conversation.


End file.
